


How to Make a Monster

by xosairbearxo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Asgard, Awesome Frigga, Betrayal, Bitterness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frigga Feels, Gen, Good Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunn Loki, Kid Loki, Kid Thor, Lies, Loki Angst, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Manipulative Loki, Odin's Parenting, Parent Frigga, Poor Loki, Protective Thor, Sad Loki, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry, Tesseract, Thor Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xosairbearxo/pseuds/xosairbearxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the rest of the world has always treated you like you're a monster... eventually, you'll act like one. What happened throughout Loki Laufeyson's life to turn him into the person he is today? What will happen now that he's taken the throne under the guise of Odin? (Takes place before, during, and after "Thor", "The Avengers", and "TTDW". Rated T for mature themes and violence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

** ***Author’s Note ** **:** **This story takes place before, during, and after “Thor”, “The Avengers”, and “Thor: The Dark World”. There will be a lot of scenes included that involve plot and dialogue straight from the movies, with my own twists thrown in; but there will also be a lot of flashbacks and back story created by me. And once I eventually get beyond the events in TTDW, the rest of the story will be entirely my own creation.**

**This is going to be a long story, I am warning you now, lol. I’m in this for the long haul. Loki has a story to tell; HIS side during all of this, all of the events that have taken place before, during, and after the events from these three films. It’s safe to say that I don’t own any of these characters or any recognizable places, events, etc., despite how much I’d otherwise love to, haha.**

* * *

**HOW TO MAKE A MONSTER – PROLOGUE**

 

* * *

 

 

All he wanted more of, was time. Time would grant him the chance to escape, to strategize… to survive. And yet, time had all too quickly become lost to him, the moment he was sucked into the abyss. Sight and sound, touch and taste, any ability to _feel_ and _know_ and remind himself that he was still _alive_ – all of these things disappeared in a single moment. What was the last thing he could remember?

 

_Colours_. A magnificent pallet of hues – all the colours of the rainbow – from what remained of the Bifrost bridge, the swirl of garments adorned by Thor and the Allfather, and the constillations and galactic map of all the Realms that hung overhead. For a single moment, he wanted to think that, strangely, it was beautiful; _wanted_ to, but could not. Before the thought could pass in his mind, darkness engulfed him and his world became nothing.

 

_“Kiiiiiill hiiiiiim…”_

 How long had he floated there, trapped between worlds in a sort of semi-existence? Was he dead? He did not know. Within hours, he no longer had any hold on how much time had passed; he tried to move, to wriggle, to do _something_ , and yet the abyss that made him feel so light was somehow also so very crushing, and it encased all the space around him and pinned him there. Unable to move. But able to breathe.

 

Therefore, unable to die.

 

The very idea made him want to let out a bitter laugh, had he been able to. Of _course_ this would be his fate, of course. Heimdall could probably see him, and Odin undoubtedly must’ve known, and no doubt he would sit there on his precious throne and smirk and say, “Serves him right.” He could have saved him if he really had wanted to. But no, instead he clutched onto _Thor_ , as he always had, in every sense of the word. Lose one to save the other, and that would always be a battle that Loki would lose when push came to shove.   

 

_“Wait…”_

How now had he arrived _here_? It was as if luck all but laughed at him over the last – _however long_ it had been. Weeks, months (years?) of gravity-crushing stillness; of being in a state of semi-existence, trying to scream, to move, to die… none of it ever came. Eventually, his insides began to fight to survive and what felt like months later, he could feel his stomach begin to eat itself. Headaches were constant and never-ending as his heart pumped viciously to try and send more blood to the brain, to little avail. But he was something greater than mortal; not _immortal_ , but close. And so he knew, as he had floated there in a limbo between worlds, that these ailments would not end him. He was cursed to forever wish for death, and death would never fully release him. This was not Hel. This was worse.

 

“ _This one…”_

And then, one day (week? Month? Year?) it was like the fabric of time and space had somehow been severed – just a tiny tear, that’s all it took – and Loki was falling, falling and spiralling and up became down and there was no ground or sky or light or dark, just spinning and plummeting and hoping that sweet, merciful death would be meeting him on the other side.

 

He hit the ground with a sickening thud that rumbled and shook throughout all of his bones. The impact was not as painful as it should have been, but having been hoping for his demise, anything less was unexpected and therefore, a shock to the system.

 

He could remember little of finally getting to his feet. One moment it felt like he was flat on his back, this new universe’s gravity holding him to the rocky surface beneath him, and the next, he was shakily standing, eyes wide and unknowing. This world was unlike anything he was familiar with; he mentally checked off all of the Nine Realms and quickly deduced that wherever he was, was not one of them. He could breathe the air, and he could walk with ease one he got control over his legs and attempted a few steps. This realm – whatever it was – contained of nothing but chunks of rock, some large, the size of cities, some small, the size of boulders. They floated, above, below, and all around. It appeared barren; the thought was not all that comforting to the young god.

 

His first instinct was to shout for Heimdall to send him back. Instantaneously, he realized that if he didn’t know that this realm previously existed, then the sentry probably did not either. He faltered. Loki had always felt alone in the world – and now he was, literally, alone in the world. The situation felt amusingly ironic, and yet he did not much feel like laughing.

 

He stood – for how long? He thought – for how long? He walked – for how long? Eventually, he began to find himself wondering if time was even a _thing_ anymore, for him, for where he was. If he could return home, if it were possible, how much time would have passed? A day? A year? A decade? Or maybe no time at all?

 

_Would_ he ever get home? _Did he even have a home anymore?_ He refused to think about it. He refused to think about Odin, and Thor, and Frigga; about being a Frost Giant and a monster and a Trickster. He would not remember the desperate plea and the firm rejection; how that had led him here. How this was not _his_ fault, and yet somehow everyone would claim it was. He had previously believed that he had grown accustomed to the fact that the world always blamed him, whether they were justified or not. The world over hated Loki, and sometimes – once in a while, when he knew he was alone – he could not help but wonder _why_.

 

But he would not think of that now. He would just move forward, as he always did, taking one step at a time – one step at a time. This mantra became his only working, coherent thought.

 

“ _This one…”_

They had been watching him for some time now; alone, abandoned, this creature that walked their grounds in search of food, water, and shelter. A strange, lowly thing with skin as pale as winter and eyes that might have once been a deep emerald green but were now sallow and dim; greasy, matted raven’s hair that fell just below his jaw line, and robes that appeared to be of a fine quality but hung too loosely over a pathetically thin frame.

 

_Mortal?_ They had wondered, unsure how such a species could even make their way into their realm, but a voice that hissed from deep within the cave informed them otherwise. For this creature watched and observed and saw – It _saw_ the shimmering green glow that somehow pulsated through this thing’s limbs, culminating around the organ It recognized as the heart. It watched and observed and saw for weeks, ordering Its creatures to stay back, to not yet attack this _thing_ \- to let him come to _them_.

 

Eventually, come he did, and they swarmed. The advance was so sudden and so unexpected that Loki had little time to react; one moment he was alone - this had become the norm to him in this realm - and the next, he was in the center of a circle of beasts. They towered over his lithe frame, their faces rotting, scarred, and grotesque. They reminded him of the foul creatures he sometimes would have night terrors about as a child.

 

For the second time, Loki’s first instinct betrayed him as his lips parted to call out for his brother. There had never been a worse time to be so alone. Knowing this, Loki did the only thing he knew how to do: whatever needed to be done to survive. Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself in an attempt to intimidate, and slowly turned full circle, his eyes landing on each beast. He pressed his lips in a firm line, making sure to keep his green orbs unblinking, firm and unafraid. Sometimes, battles were best won by wits.

 

A voice, loud and horrid, cascaded over the pack from a deformed body that stood above them on a cliff; the tone was cold and unforgiving, but the language was not of anything Loki had ever heard before. It spoke again, and the young prince could not understand it.

 

“ _Kiiiiiiill hiiiiiiim…”_

 

 The moment he saw a trigger of movement from one of the beasts encircling him, Loki attempted to halt the onslaught by straightening his neck and, with all of the courage he could muster, pronounced, “I am Loki of Asgard.” Inwardly, he flinched. The association to his old home felt like a swift kick to the stomach, and he hated that the words were still programmed into his system. But what title was he to give himself now? Was he Loki of Asgard? Or Loki of Jotunheim? Perhaps he was Loki of Nowhere. Still, his face remained stoic. “I do not present any threat to your people,” he continued, he voice firm and unwavering despite his increasing heartbeat.

 

The creature that towered above them said something else in a guttural voice. The only thing Loki made out was the word “Odinson”. To his horror, the word began to echo throughout the circle around him, as if _that_ was the only identifier that made sense. Against his better judgement, his hands clenched. “I am _no Odinson_ ,” he snapped, still unblinking. The dry air and the dust were now irritating his eyes, and what once was green and clear was slowly becoming bloodshot and twitching. But still, he would not flinch, nor look away.

 

He was _not_. He had _never been_. He had been lied to; made to feel like he belonged when in fact, his “father” had always known he was an outsider. A monster.

 

_‘Only one of you can ascend to the throne… but both of you were born to be King.’_

The words had never made more sense than when he had discovered his true parentage. What a wicked way to deceive your child; feed him a lie, but because it is wrapped up in a truth, you were never _truly_ being delusory.

 

_‘…But both of you were_ born _to be King.’_

 

Oh yes. Merely because his own father was King himself, of Jotunheim. Odin’s words were never anything more than throwing in Loki’s face what had been snatched away from him at birth. What he was _really_ saying was, “Both of you were born to be King, but that is a technicality. Thor is the only son I have ever – and will ever – see as being worthy of the throne. But I will give you hope, Loki, because it is so much more fun that way.”

 

Loki released a barely audible growl as the memory, the first real memory he’d allowed to flood his mind since falling into the abyss, drove him mad with rage. “I am no _Odinson_ ,” he spat again, this time louder.

 

But it was like they did not hear him. Whether they continued to repeat the insult or whether it was merely a product of Loki’s mind, that word – that single word – continued to assault him, until his blood was boiling and his teeth were clenched so strongly he felt they’d shatter to a powder. He continued to stare up at the creature looking down at him from above, as silent tears fell from his irritated eyes in an attempt to regain some moisture. Still, _still_ he would not blink.

 

“I am…” he hissed, in the same second that the beasts suddenly made their first move to attack, “NO ODINSON!”

 

Through no control of his own, a blinding green light suddenly expelled from his body, flying off of him in all directions and hurling all the creatures around him in opposite directions. None of them moved, lifeless as they littered the rubble around him. Loki had not anticipated the outburst and knew right away that he had exuded far too much magic given his current health. Even a _little_ would have been too risky. His knees felt like they were about to give out from beneath him, and he would’ve welcomed the sweet unconsciousness he would have surely fallen into, had he hit the ground. But his senses were jarred back to life when he heard a frustrated shriek from the creature that still stood and surveyed from above.

 

“ _KIIIILL HIIIIM!”_

 

Loki’s eyes widened as a sea of beasts seemed to pool in from over the hills and boulders, still a fair distance away but far too many for him to stand up against alone. Struggling to keep his footing, his hands slid against his hips quickly and returned holding his precious daggers, knuckles gripping the handles so hard they were white. Panting and wobbling, Loki’s eyes darted in a panic around the hoard of creatures advancing upon him. Surely he would now meet death… surely. Only now it did not feel so welcomed in the young god’s mind.

 

But something, unseen and unknown to the Trickster, had been watching. In a deep, menacing voice, in the same language that Loki could not understand, It spoke from the shadows above:

 

_“Wait…”_

 

Loki, foreign and unaware of what the voice was saying, felt a small gasp escape his lungs as he desperately panted for air, his heart beating wildly in his chest from fear. His shaking hands continued to hold his daggers in front of him, and he waited for whatever was about to come. He waited for pain, he waited for torture, and he waited for his end.

 

And in that moment, he wished that he were not alone. All he wanted more of, was time. Time would grant him the chance to escape, to strategize… to survive. Strangely, a part of him now acknowledged that he no longer wished to die. All he needed was _more time_. And yet, time had all too quickly become lost to him, the moment he was sucked into the abyss. Time was a luxury he had long since been rid of.

From the darkness, It watched the god, who held his daggers up, prepared to fight and prepared – but suddenly unwilling - to die. It saw the magic that surged within him; still alive and there, even if it was significantly weaker in this moment. It saw the black seed within his heart that seemed to blossom at the mention of the word “Odinson”, and the way that blackness had momentarily seeped into his veins, poisoning his blood and likewise poisoning the nature of the words that spilled from the god’s tongue. One seed was all It needed.

 

This poison, this being… What It saw was an opportunity.

 

_“There is hate in this one’s heart,”_ It rumbled from the shadows, each word coming out slowly. _“He… is… The One.”_

 

* * *

 

 


	2. PART ONE - CHAPTER ONE

**Author’s Note:** **Thus begins PART ONE! Here is the breakdown: Part One will cover stuff that happens throughout Loki and Thor’s childhood and adult years, straight through to ALL the events that happen throughout the first _Thor_ movie and _The Avengers_. Once it gets to that, a lot of the scenes will involve plot and dialogue directly out of the films, with me filling in the blanks and adding in scenes and events that happen whenever he WASN’T on camera, lol.**

**PART TWO will encompass everything that happens in _Thor: The Dark World_ until *SPOILER* Loki reveals himself on the throne under the guise of Odin, when Thor is walking away to return to Earth. **

**Finally, PART THREE will be everything that happens beyond that, and will include a discovery that Thor makes about his brother, a war against Thanos, Loki’s life being put on the line, and then will aim to tie a nice bow on Loki’s story (although not all peaches and crème, I assure you) and finally answer the question: Who will be the King of Asgard? (It won’t be what you’re expecting.)**

**…..As I said, I am in this for the long haul, lol. This story will probably take me a year or two to complete, if I’m diligent at updating frequently and granted that people are actually reading it and giving me feedback to continue motivating me :P**

**ALRIGHT, ENOUGH. Time for the story. As usual, I don’t own Marvel, or any of the characters or recognizable plot and dialogue.**

 

* * *

**HOW TO MAKE A MONSTER**

**PART ONE – CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 

He couldn’t help the faint smile that graced his lips as each step brought him closer to the sitting figure of the Allfather. He kept his face passive and uncaring as he wondered to himself what his punishment would be. More snake venom dripping onto his face? That had been excruciating but bearable. Would he succumb to some lashings? They would no doubt be painful, but nothing the magician couldn’t cure in a short time. Perhaps imprisonment for one hundred years? That would be tiring, but it was still only a heartbeat in the grand scheme of things. He would be bored to death for the first few decades, but once it was over with, he would be able to shrug it off his shoulders. The _clinks_ and _clanks_ of the chains and cuffs as he moved forward rang throughout the great hall, and the Trickster kept his gaze fixated on the King until he was finally before him.

 

“Loki,” he heard Frigga’s voice say quietly, and he turned his head to give her a most amused expression.

 

“Hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?” he asked condescendingly.

 

She frowned and wrung her hands nervously. “Please, don’t make this worse,” she pleaded, but whether it was more for _her_ benefit rather than his, the mischief god did not know.

 

“Define _worse_.”

 

“Enough,” the Allfather’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “I will speak to the prisoner alone.”

 

_‘Prisoner’. How cute; whatever happened to the whole ‘You are my son’ deception?_

 

Reluctantly, he saw his mother back away from the corner of his eye and leave the room. Eyes back on Odin, Loki sauntered forward before knocking his right foot against the left, making the cuffs ring in contact. He chuckled. “I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he admitted truthfully.

 

“Do you truly not see the gravity of your crimes?” Odin asked him. “Wherever you go, there is bloodshed, ruin, and death.”

 

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Odin to make the situation appear far worse than it actually was. “I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a _benevolent_ god – just like you,” he added, hoping the implication would not go unnoticed. If Odin was going to punish him for his supposed crimes, he would not do so without first realizing the hypocrisy of his own actions.

 

But the words seemed to have no effect on the King. “We are not gods,” he insisted, looking almost amused at Loki’s words, and the way in which his gaze mocked him made Loki’s blood boil. “We are born, we live, we die; just as humans do.”

 

Loki plastered on the same fraudulent smile that the King wore and replied, “Give or take five-thousand years.”

 

“All this, because Loki desires a throne,” the Allfather jeered.

 

The smile vanished. “It is my birth right!” Loki snapped.

 

“Your birth right,” Odin suddenly shouted, leaning forward and biting onto each syllable, “was to _die_! Cast out onto a frozen rock.” That amused half-smile returned. “If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.”

 

The exchange had quickly grown tiresome for the youngest son, who now almost would’ve preferred execution than having to be reminded of his true parentage. “If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it,” he said, his indifferent mask hiding the rage building within him. “It’s not that I don’t love our little chats, it’s just…” He frowned. “I _don’t_ love them.”

 

“Frigga is the only reason you are still alive, and you will never see her again.”

 

The weight of Odin’s words finally struck something within Loki as the truth of the situation bore down on him. He faltered a step as he could feel the guards begin to tug on his chains, Odin ordering them to take him away to the dungeons. The Allfather, who was supposed to be _his_ father but was not, and never had been, was sentencing him to eternity in a cage? For _what_? His actions on Midgard!? All he was doing was trying to be the King that Odin had always made him believe he could be – and that was somehow an unforgiveable offense, while his precious Thor could arrogantly charge into whatever realm he pleased and wreak havoc? Why were Loki’s actions always so condemnable, when all Thor got was a slap on the wrist and three days’ worth of punishment before he had suddenly proved himself worthy again? The thought of the thunder god made Loki’s teeth clench together.

 

“And what of Thor?” he demanded in a voice he hoped did not come out as shaky as he felt. “You would make that _witless oaf_ King while I rot in chains?”

 

To Loki, it appeared as though Odin sneered. “Thor must strive to undo the damage you have caused,” he answered. “He will bring order to the Nine Realms – and then, _yes_ , he will be King.”

 

Loki’s jaw clenched tighter and his burning gaze bore into the Allfather as he was suddenly tugged back and forced to turn his back on that… _traitor_. He resisted the urge to shout, “Nice chatting with you, _Father_ ,” over his shoulder. The walk was short as he was led down the steps and into the dungeons he was so familiar with; despite the strict instructions given to him and Thor as children to never enter there, Loki had found ways to sneak in regardless, and had discovered plenty of fun over the years at standing outside of the cells and taunting the prisoners within them with his magic. Now, this was to be his new home. _How poetic_.

 

It should have taken only one guard to bring Loki into his cell and unlock his shackles, but they probably assumed he was cleverer than most (they would be right) and could easily overpower one guard, and so he was accompanied by four. He was almost flattered at the gesture. The constrictive metal fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and then they were gone. Loki smirked; he didn’t need to try and make a run for it. He had his own ways of escaping. So he watched them go until he was certain that they could no longer see or hear him.

 

He waited for about thirty minutes, unmoving. When he was sure enough time had passed, he closed his eyes and focused on all of the details of the interior of his bed chambers, and willed his magic to send him there. But when he opened his eyes, he was still standing within the cell. Frowning, he looked directly beyond the transparent walls and attempted a destination that was far less complicated. Still, nothing happened. Panic shot through him; the cell must have been blocking his magic. No, surely they would not force him to spend an eternity without the use of the one thing they all knew was integral to him. He held his hands out in front of him and focused, seconds later creating small green embers that hovered above his flesh. As a second test, he looked to the corner of the room to his right and narrowed his eyes. An exact copy of himself manifested before him, and there appeared to be no hindrances or flaws in the design. By his will, the projection vanished.

 

Hesitantly, he looked back out of the cell and tried to will that same copy to appear there instead. Nothing. The puzzle pieces were fitting together as the gears in Loki’s brain spun, and he reached out his hand and gingerly felt for the wall, visible only due to the golden shimmer that sprayed across it unevenly. When they made contact, gold shimmered around his hand and a faint vibration was felt in the tips of his fingers.

 

_Magic_. He should have guessed. The cell had a spell placed on it to ensure that any magic used by the Trickster was contained to within its walls, thus ensuring he couldn’t escape. He felt both offended and impressed that the Allfather would know to do this; he always assumed that the rest of the world was far less intelligent than he was – and he was usually right, but he supposed this was one instance where he was proven wrong. He wondered if it had been the Allfather who had made the enchantment, or Frigga. Not that it mattered, he supposed; Odin rarely used magic, but when he did, the strength of it was impenetrable. If Frigga conjured the spell, there _might_ be a way to overthrow it, for Loki’s magic was almost as powerful as hers. But it would take far too long to figure out the answer, and that was _if_ he even could. He made a mental note to revisit this down the road, if there was no sign of him attaining his freedom.

 

He also couldn’t help but ask himself if _all_ of the cells had this same enchantment placed upon them, or if it was just on his own. Again, the notion was almost flattering. Almost.

 

Knowing that no one could see him, he allowed himself to sigh, his arms relaxing and his shoulders slumping in disappointment. Accepting that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, he finally began to survey the interior of the cell. There was a bed – if you could call it that. It would only just fit his frame; the bed in his chambers was practically the size of his cell. Now the great Prince of Asgard had a _shoe box_ to sleep in. _How kind of them_. There were also a few tables, some small and some larger, and a couple of chairs. On one of the tables was a goblet filled with water, while on another was a crystal bowl with berries of a deep, dark blue colour inside. He scrunched his eyebrows; he despised blueberries. But at least they had supplied him with some sort of food. He picked up a berry and held it between his fingers, scoffing. _What agony; honestly, the Allfather truly showed me. This is indeed torture_ , he thought. Snickering, he squeezed his fingers until the berry burst with a soft _pop_! Dropping the squished remnants of the fruit back into the bowl, he wiped his fingers on his garments as he walked over to the “bed” and took a seat on it.

 

He sat for a while. Then he lied down. He tried to sleep, thinking that perhaps his body would welcome the unconsciousness after everything he had been through. He didn’t. He sat for a while longer. Then he paced. He paced some more. When he no longer felt like pacing, he leaned against the wall of the cell and stared outside. He memorized all of the details of the outside world, his eyes eventually glazing over. He lied back down. At some point, the lights in all the cells faded off, and he could only assume that it was now night time. Lying on his side, he passed the time by creating round tuffs of deep emerald and watching them dance around each other.

 

At some point, the floating lights began to fuzz at the edges and began to glisten with the cloudiness taking over Loki’s fading orbs. He didn’t even realize it when sleep finally conquered him, the fire dissipating and the room being swallowed by the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_“If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where He cannot find you…”_

 

Loki moaned as he twisted and turned on the small bed. Sweat dotted his forehead; his back arched, driving his head into the stiff cushion, and he didn’t know if he was dreaming or awake but he felt hot, so hot, and this was unusual for him because he had always had a lower core temperature than his fellow Asgardians. There was nothing but blackness, crushing and overwhelming and it pinned him there, unable to move, unable to scream, but able to breathe. Therefore, unable to die.

 

And it was hot – it was so very hot. It felt like flames licked at his skin from all directions, white hot and ruthless, and it _hurt_. His skin felt like it was melting off in thick, large patches and he tried to get away from it but he couldn’t move and he just. Couldn’t. Move.

 

_“You think you know pain?”_

And then suddenly there were claws; disfigured and deformed and some with two fingers and others with seven and all the numbers in between. These claws dug at him and pierced into his flesh, his flesh that was seared and oozing off of his bones, and their talons sunk into his muscles, his organs, his scalp, his eyes. And it was _unbearable_. The god wanted to writhe and scream; his insides spasmed and curdled as pain – more pain than he had ever felt – ripped through his body but he couldn’t move and he just. Couldn’t. Move. They tore away at him and he felt it _all_ , but somehow he would not die; somehow he remained there and they continued to tear and rip and devour, and he knew they would continue to do this to him forever and he would never be released from the torture.

 

_“He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”_

* * *

 

With a choked cry, Loki broke out of the unconsciousness and bolted upright into a sitting position. Small, frightened gasps escaping him, his hands frantically felt around his body, touching every part of him that had been torn apart and somehow not feeling any relief when he could feel that he was still perfectly intact. Somehow, he could still feel the lingering licks of pain throughout his limbs.

 

His body went rigid as he forced his breathing to slow down. _Get a hold of yourself_. This stillness did not last long however, as his body began to tremble and would not stop, no matter how hard he tried to force it otherwise. Not thinking, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed until he could feel the smooth floor underneath him and shakily, rose to his feet. It was dark, so dark, but there was the faint golden shimmer on his walls, and he wondered what that was doing in his bed chambers. Still disoriented and not fully yet awake, he stumbled forward towards what was supposed to be the door to his room with the intent of waking up Thor and asking him if he could perhaps sleep in his room with him for the rest of the night. He did not care if the elder would find the request odd, given that Loki had not gone to him for this purpose in hundreds of years; he was operating on a hazy, fatigue-induced instinct.

 

Instead, he walked head first into the transparent wall, a brilliant burst of gold blossoming around the area where he had made contact. Jarred back into reality, the Trickster shot back in surprise. He was not in his bed chambers… he was. _Right_. He remembered now.

 

No one was there to witness it, but his face dropped back into its mask anyways. Laughing quietly and bitterly, he stared into the darkness, to the wall he could barely make out and beyond it, to the outside world he pretended to be able to see. Shaking his head and internally scolding himself for even entertaining such a foolish thought, he turned around and, creating a small green light to guide him, made his way back to the bed.

 

He lay there for a while, the small flame dancing from finger to finger, but he did not watch it. He frowned. _Get a hold of yourself._ Catching himself beginning to get lost within old memories, he quickly expanded the flame so it grew large, and then watched as it burst into dozens of pinhead-sized embers. With a half-hearted flick of his hand, they bounced around the room and resumed their mystical routine. He watched until his eyes were sore. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. And because he knew no one was watching him, he wrapped his arms around himself and curled his legs up so they were tucked against his stomach.

 

“Sentiment,” he spat quietly, but the word came out broken and unsure, and Loki was glad that no one could hear him, either.

 

* * *

 

Frigga had managed to last six solid days before she could no longer keep herself from the dungeons. She knew it was against Odin’s command for her to see her son, but she was his _mother_ , and _someone_ needed to be there for him. She paced around her room, building up the courage to face the young man; she wanted her visit to be perfect and end on a positive note. She had decided to bring him something, but she wasn’t sure what. Food, perhaps? She knew how the prisoners in the dungeons got fed, and Loki was already thin enough. Especially now, without proper exercise, she feared he would wither away to nothing with enough time. She decided to bring him more blueberries, and was excited at the possibility of seeing even the smallest sign of appreciation and relief from her youngest son. She knew they had been his favourite fruit as a child, and she hoped that when he first entered the cell and saw them, he would have known that they must’ve been from her. Her Loki was clever like that; if anyone would make that connection, it was him.

Frowning, she glanced around the room, trying to figure out what else to bring him, when her eyes landed on one of her books sitting tidily on the edge of a small table. Loki had always liked books, especially _her_ books. How many times had Thor found his little brother hiding away, deep in the aisles of the palace’s library, begging the raven-haired boy to join him outside, only to be turned down in favour of the finely-aged pages in his lap? How many times did Loki crawl into _her_ lap, begging her to continue one of the books from her personal collection, while Odin took Thor to his own private training sessions or one of their hunting sprees?

Looking through some of her own texts, she pulled out a few that she knew her son would like. Smiling now, she made her way towards the dungeons, planning only to detour first at the library.

 

* * *

 

Loki was surprised when Frigga approached his cell and with one swift motion of her hand, created a doorway by which to walk inside. (The door immediately vanished once she had entered. _Damn_.)

 

“Hello, Loki,” she said lovingly, with a sad smile on her face. His eyes fell to the stack of books she carried under her arm, as well as a small bag that sat on top of them.

 

“Hello,” he replied, grateful that she had come. If no one ever visited him again, he would still be content if only Frigga ever did. At this point, she was really the only person besides himself that mattered. Still, they had not seen each other since they’re small exchange before Odin had set his punishment, and a part of him couldn’t help but feel betrayed by her willingness to let the sentence pass unchallenged.

 

She placed the stack of books down on the foot rest and then held out the bag to her son. “I have brought you some books; I thought maybe you would be interested in reading some of them, and you can let me know which ones you prefer so I may bring more,” she told him, trying to keep her tone light. There was a distinct elephant in the room, and they both knew what it was, but the longer she could continue to act as though everything was fine – that her son was not locked away in here because he was still her baby and yes, he made mistakes and could be mischievous, but she still loved him and hated to see him this way – the longer they could avoid it altogether.

 

Loki eyed the books and then gave a small nod. He cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you,” he said. His tone came out much more apathetic than he intended it to, and before it could cause any damage, he made a point to un-knit his eyebrows. “I would like that,” he added, his voice much softer this time. She smiled, and he couldn’t help but give a small smile in return.

 

She held out the bag to him. He accepted it and then peered inside. Frowning, he asked, “Blueberries? Surely you’ve noticed that the ones I already have, have gone uneaten.”

 

Frigga looked to the bowl, confused. “I thought they were your favourite,” she said calmly, and Loki was too preoccupied grimacing into the bag to notice the disappointment in your voice.

 

“I hate blueberries,” he muttered.

 

“They were your favourite as a child, then.”

 

“They were _never_ my favourite.”

 

Frigga sighed, knowing her son well enough to know that, sometimes, his stubbornness could put Thor’s to shame. “Very well, it was my mistake,” she resigned. “What would you prefer in its place?”

 

Loki thought about it, putting the bag down on the edge of his bed. “Cranberries,” he said after a moment’s pause. When he saw his mother’s raised eyebrows, he defended his choice, saying, “They are sour. I like that.” He got a strange expression on his face as he bitterly attempted humour, adding, “ _I’m_ sour.”

 

He waited for her to laugh, but she didn’t. Instead, she just stared at him sadly. The look made him feel exposed and judged, so he broke the stare and walked over to the books. Dragging his fingers tenderly over the covers, he went through them one by one, reading the titles. Some of them he had particularly loved as a child; some he had never heard of. He stopped on one book and let out a small, “Hmm.” He held it up. “ _Hamlet_ ; how suiting.” Before his mother could interject with an exasperated counterstatement, Loki turned to her and pushed a false smile to his lips. “I have always been quite fond of Shakespeare’s work – even though he is but a mere mortal. Midgardians have some fascinating literature.”

 

Relieved, Frigga smiled back and then unexpectedly walked towards her son. Loki considered backing away from the oncoming touch, not knowing how he would react to it; but he missed his mother, no matter how much he despised admitting his dependence on another person, and he thought that maybe some loving contact would not hurt him. Gently, she cupped his face with her hands and smiled, her eyes glistening. Loki’s own eyes closed as he sighed at the affectionate gesture, trying to keep his face unreadable but knowing full well that he had visibly sank into the touch.

 

“Loki…” was all Frigga could say, shaking her head as her heart ached. She took a deep breath. “You know that I will not be able to visit you frequently,” she said reluctantly. His eyes opened and he looked to her. “But I will come as often as I can.”

 

Loki backed out of her hands and folded his own behind his back. Frigga could have sworn she saw his expression drop just a bit, and his mask had deteriorated – and was that sadness in his eyes? And then suddenly, the indifference was back and the mask restored.

 

“Oh yes, Odin does not know you’re here,” Loki said with a small smile, but his words were cold and filled with hatred. “Best not to upset the old man, lest his weakened heart fails him and he falls back into another Odinsleep.”  

 

“I do not find that funny, Loki,” Frigga said warningly, and even for such a graceful, loving woman, her tone could become harsh and intimidating when it needed to be. “Your father did not _enjoy_ what transpired between you and him; he was just as upset as I about your punishment.”

 

“And yet, he instilled it.”

 

“There is a purpose to everything your father does,” Frigga repeated the words she had spoken to the Trickster once before. “He chose this sentence for a reason.”

 

Loki laughed in disbelief. “But when Thor threatened to start a war against the Jotunheim, all he got in return was a banishment to Midgard that lasted the span of a long weekend.”

 

“Loki, you know that your actions far exceeded the severity of your brother’s. Your father had to respond accordingly.”

 

Loki’s jaw tightened. “He’s not my father,” he whispered lowly.

 

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Frigga sighed. “You cannot hope to show him that you have changed if you are unwilling to take responsibility for your actions,” she said.

 

Loki raised his eyebrows, as if the mere suggestion offended him. In mock surprise, he gestured to himself. “ _Change_? Is that what Odin hopes will happen – that I will _change_? Into whom, I wonder? _Thor?_ An Aesir, instead of a _Frost Giant_?” His voice grew colder and louder as he spoke. “Does he hope I will magically _change_ so I am no longer a _monster_? Would I somehow then be worthy in his eyes of attaining the throne? Of being equal to the _mighty Thor_?!”

 

Frigga said nothing, although her mouth trembled in an attempt to fight back more tears. She herself felt immeasurable guilt at being a part of the lie that had been placed upon Loki since the day Odin returned home with him in his arms; she had begged her husband to tell him at a young age, but even in his refusal, she did not make the decision to tell him herself. She had always feared that if he knew, Loki would never again see her as his mother – selfishly, this added to her reasoning for not telling him. She loved Loki; too much to let him go.

 

But at the same time, she also loved her husband and was bound by his law. Furthermore, she may had loved her son and been the one to jump to his defense – more than anybody – throughout his life, but even she could not deny the severity of his actions in the last hundred years. As sad as it made her to admit it, Loki was no longer a child, and she needed to stop treating him as one.

 

“Please do not twist my words,” she said tiredly. “Neither your father or I could ever see you as a monster. You are not a monster, Loki; whether you choose to believe it or not, you are our _son_. And we would never wish for you to be your brother; the world already has one Thor, it does not need another – just as the world should only have one Loki, for you are just as special, and unique, and can offer the Nine Realms so much. They need you, Loki. But not like this; not with all this bitterness in your heart, that leads to suffering and destruction. You are better than that.”

 

Loki glared at her. “‘Would you have me / False to my nature? Rather say I play / The man I am,’” he recited angrily.

 

Frigga frowned. “I…?”

 

“ _Coriolanus_ , Mother; another of that Midgardian author’s plays.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “I am who I am, and I will _not_ change just to please Odin – you and him can choose to accept that, or don’t. It matters not to me.”

 

Loki knew he had overstepped the line with that last exchange. A single tear slipped down Frigga’s face as she struggled to maintain her composure in his presence. He knew he should apologize, he knew it. But he just couldn’t; not after everything that had happened. So he stood there stubbornly, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to be broken and hoping against hope that she could not see the guilt in his eyes.

 

She wrung her hands, looked to the stack of books, and then moved back towards her son, who refused to meet her eyes. She tentatively placed one hand back on his cheek. “No one can force you to change, Loki,” she whispered, and then placed a sad kiss on his other cheek. Loki didn’t even blink. Then she pulled back and let her hand drop. “But you will have a long and lonely eternity ahead of you if you cannot think back on your actions and understand your faults in what happened. I hope you will eventually see, because I love you and want my son back.” She sighed again, Loki still refusing to look at her. “I will return as soon as possible,” she said, defeated. Without even gesturing, a doorframe reappeared by her magic’s will, and she motioned to leave. Before she did, however, Loki watched her notice the bag of blueberries she had brought him and made to go pick them up. Quickly, he intercepted and picked up the bag before she could.

 

“I will keep these,” he said, and his voice was gentler now. He was trying. Finally, he glanced up at his mother and his fingers closed around the bag, making the decision final.

 

Despite everything, Frigga knew her son, her Loki, and what he was trying to do; what these words were really trying to say. She forced another sad smile to her lips, nodded, and then without another word, turned and left the cell, the door disappearing behind her.

 

Loki chewed on the inside of his cheek, hating himself for upsetting Frigga and also hating himself for being so weak as to feel _guilt_ over it. He lowered himself onto the bed and with stiff movements, lied down. Still holding the bag in his hand, he fingered at the material absentmindedly as he thought about what she had said. Sighing, he covered his face with one hand, and wondered how he had ever gotten here.

 

* * *

 

*****Author’s Note #2: Okay, so the next chapter will be the start of the flashbacks! Yay, I’m excited for the story from here on out, because it’ll really pick up. Please leave a review if you read this, even if it’s just to tell me you hated it and think I suck :P Any feedback is helpful feedback, whether positive or negative. xo**

 

 

 


	3. PART ONE - CHAPTER TWO

*****Author’s Note:** **For all of the following chapters that deal with Loki, Thor, and the other children at specific ages, I am doing so under the theory I read about that states that Asgardians and Aesir age – for the most part – the same as humans do from birth until they hit maturity. This particular text says that they tend their aging process tends to slow to an almost standstill speed by about the age of thirty onwards, hence why they can then spend thousands of years only appearing to age a decade. So, if I refer to a character as being, say, twelve years old, just treat it like he’s twelve years old in human years, lol. And I know that, being a Jotun, Loki’s aging process isn’t exactly like it is on Asgard, but I looked into it and the Frost Giants’ life expectancy is actually pretty close to the Aesirs’ - so good enough for me!**

**As always, I do not own Marvel, Thor, The Avengers, or any recognizable character, plot piece, or dialogue.**

* * *

 

**HOW TO MAKE A MONSTER**

**PART ONE – CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 

Strange things always seemed to happen around Loki Odinson. Harmless things – like peoples’ water inexplicably turning into horse urine; helmets disappearing off of soldiers’ skulls, only to find them in the most random places afterwards; apples floating from the very hands of their consumers, dangling over them, and then dropping onto their heads seconds later… But then, there were also the harmful things… like the fires that would unexpectedly come to life, the way those who teased the young boy would suddenly disappear and reappear in different locations (some dangerous), or when the fruit that touched parted lips morphed into lethal, poisonous berries. Thank Odin that the latter only occurred a small number of times, and that each time, someone had noticed before it was too late.

 

At first, people were confused – understandably – but thought little of it. No fingers were pointed; no blame was directed. But then gradually, over time, people began to talk, for they do little else. And they could not help but notice that – who always seemed to be present when such strange happenings transpired? Why, Loki. And _who_ always seemed to be provoked somehow right beforehand? Why, Loki. And _who_ never seemed to be the target of such curious events? _Why, Loki, of course._

Had it been anyone else, there might have been skepticism or doubt. The fact that the young boy was the Allfather’s son seemed to make little difference, for Loki had always stood out – seemed different – and this ostracism seemed to follow him from a young age, regardless of whether he actually _warranted_ it or not. With jet black hair and skin as pale as snow, the young Prince had always appeared out of place among his fellow Asgardians; _especially_ when seen amidst his royal family. This was not the first time the whispers made their way around the Kingdom – the poor boy could never seem to escape their gossip.

 

But at the mere age of eight, Loki did not _mean_ to cause trouble. He was aware that if he felt overwhelmed, or concentrated hard enough, that he could make things happen. But he never did any of those things on _purpose_. At such a young age, he had not yet discovered that he possessed the ability to wield magic, nor had it ever been taught to him. Magic was not the warrior’s weapon. And so these things that the people spoke of _were_ his doing, but not intentionally. Believe it or not, there was a time when the “mischievous” Loki Odinson had a heart – and he did not like displeasing people.

 

Say what you will, but there is an inherent innocence within a child that can withstand the harshest treatments; it can spoil and wither away as the years progress, as they grow and continue to face emotional damage, but for those precious years, they are still pure. They are still good.

 

Children are incapable of being monsters.

 

Growing up, Loki needed only to look to Thor to be reminded what he should strive to be. He saw what his big brother was, and how the people saw him, too: good, strong, noble - filled with glorious purpose. And he loved his brother and looked up to him faithfully. Without any other companions, Thor had always been the only friend he had. He saw the way that his father would smile proudly at the elder, because he was everything that could ever be desired in a son, and a Prince, and a future King, while it seemed that all _he_ was ever met with were tired groans and disapproving shakes of the head. So he wanted to be all these things and more; he wanted people to smile at him and mean it, and for his father to tell him how proud he was of him, and for the other kids to _want_ to be his friend. He wanted people to like him.

 

For some reason, not many people did, though. The adults who judged him from a distance paled in comparison to the children his own age who had little problem judging him to his face. They all seemed to gravitate towards the elder son, because surely he would be Odin’s successor one day, and he was an Aesir, and would grow to become the fiercest warrior in Asgard. Even at ten years old, Thor already showed promise; he enjoyed the thrill of battle and excelled in combat lessons and recreational sparring. Loki, on the other hand, lacked the thirst for confrontation and his tiny, skinny frame had difficulty holding its own against opponents during lessons. He was only a child, and so his small body could not be held against him – but even for a youth, the other kids already assumed that he would never grow to have a warrior’s body, nor a warrior’s mind. The way that he stumbled around the mock battlefield and fell before his opponent each time was pitiful; the way he somehow preferred _reading_ to becoming skilled with a sword, laughable. But befriending Thor without also befriending Loki was impossible, for luckily Thor was just as faithful to his little brother as the younger was to him, and so everyone knew that they were a packaged deal. And so they “befriended” Loki, too (while really, merely chose to _tolerate_ him), but only maintained the charade in Thor’s presence. Once – and whenever – the golden-haired boy was gone, they would sneer in Loki’s direction and tease, as children do.

 

And Loki would remain silent, pretending to be lost in the pages of his book. He would act as though he could not to hear them, hoping that if he did that long enough, they would eventually come to see that he wasn’t so bad.

* * *

 

The day that Thor discovered his Aesir destiny was the day that Loki made the same unfortunate discovery about his own.

 

As Aesir, the scriptures that had been passed down foretold that the two young boys were predetermined to become gods. The scriptures just did not specify _what_ aspect of nature, the elements, or human condition they would be destined to rule – and if they did, the two boys were never told. Thor found out in the midst of a temper tantrum while in their daily combat lessons. He was certain – he was absolutely _certain_ – that the young boy known as Fandral had cheated, for how else could he have won? Thor had never lost to anyone before, and though this _Fandral_ was unexpectedly skilled with a sword, it was clear that his physical strength was still far lesser than his own. Loki had viewed the fight with fascination, because his big brother was the only person Loki would lower his book to actually pay attention to. He always loved watching Thor battle – his movements strong, admirable, and inspiring, even if they were sometimes sporadic and lacked any sort of strategy.

Whereas Thor was the strength, Loki was the intellect. He could observe a situation and pick up on the smallest of details that would pass unseen by everyone else. Because Thor was adamant that Fandral had cheated, the other kids backed him up, shouting their outrage. But Thor was acting blindly, solely drawing conclusions based on the fact that he had never been bested before. Simply, he was being a sore loser. Loki, on the other hand, could not deny that Fandral clearly excelled with the use of the sword; the green eyes caught the small, subtle movements he had exhibited in battle as he his wooden blade had danced around Thor’s with every swing. Thor was undoubtedly stronger and would have won had it been hand-to-hand combat, but clearly the older boy needed to improve his skills with a blade. Loki made a mental note to fill Thor in on Fandral’s strengths once they were alone, as well as suggest that he request extra lessons with the sword.

 

He remained quiet as the sounds of the children’s shouting continued to rise, while the young Fandral stared at Thor in shock. Loki felt badly for him, for he was clearly being ganged up on for no reason. He wanted to say something, but to do so would mean undoing all the hard work he had done to try and gain the other children’s approval. It seemed a better idea to be quiet and let it pass. To his relief, their instructor had had enough, and with a firm tone, silenced the children and turned to Thor.

 

“Thor Odinson, I am sorry, but the fight was fairly won. The winner of this round is Fandral. Please sit down and I will summon the next opponent to face off against this round’s victor,” he said curtly.

 

Thor stared at him in shock, blue eyes round as saucers and mouth ajar. “But – but – ” he sputtered in disbelief.

 

But the instructor merely held out a hand to silence him and shook his head. “Please sit down, Thor,” he instructed firmly.

 

And then it followed, that the temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums began. Now, Thor was prone to acting out when he did not get his way; he was a sweet kid with a big, pure heart, but he also had a stubborn streak that could span as far as Yggdrasil itself. His outbursts were usually brief – for Thor had a short attention span – but they were eventful; he did not even shy away from acting out like that in front of his mother and the Allfather. If Loki were in the presence of such behaviour _now_ , he would have found the display disgusting – the sound, like nails on a chalkboard. But as a child, it was all the young Prince could do to keep from laughing, for he loved his brother and found his temper tantrums amusing, especially because everyone else did not; like the fact that only he seemed to enjoy them somehow gave them _another_ special thing to bond over. To Loki, his unrelenting support reminded Thor that, above anyone else, he could always rely on his little brother to have his back. And so as Thor dropped to the ground and began to thrash and kick and scream, his little round face turning the most hilarious shade of red, Loki had to cover his own face with his textbook to try and hide the grin that he just could not contain. Their instructor was well used to these episodes by now, but it still did not make his attempts to make Thor stop any less amusing each time it happened. As the other kids watched in horror – _why_ were they always surprised when Thor did this, Loki had no idea – the younger brother could hardly withhold the snorts of laughter that got caught in his throat.

All heads – including his – suddenly shot upwards with wide eyes as a booming roar of thunder suddenly rumbled through the sky. Loki had been too preoccupied to even notice that it had suddenly grown dark, clouds blanketing the sky and shadowing the bright light of the sun. Even the instructor had stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hung open and eyes fixed on the clouds. The only one who didn’t seem to notice was Thor.

 

Because he had not heard the sound of the thunder of his own voice, he had not yet realized that he no longer had an audience, and so he continued to thrash and kick and scream. With each incorrigible screech, the rumbling of the thunder began to grow, until Thor suddenly screamed, “I…DO…NOT…LOSE!” The last word had barely escaped his lips when a bolt of lightning – dazzling white and blinding and glorious – burst out of the clouds, a jarring and sharp _CRACK_ following only nanoseconds later. All of the children scrambled back with startled cries, terrified (Fandral practically leapt into the instructor’s arms), and even Loki had let out a small yelp of fear at the sudden sound. Even Thor seemed just as caught off guard as the rest of the group, now sitting arrow-straight up on his butt and blinking in stupefaction.

 

“Whoah!” he cried excitedly, breaking the silence. “What – I – did _I_ do that!?”

 

He stared at the group of children – his friends – and even looked to Fandral for his response, having already gotten over the offense of what Fandral had just done to him. “Thunder!” Fandral exclaimed, just as excited. “You must be the god of thunder!”

 

The children erupted into a hysterical clamour of enthusiasm, jumping up and running to Thor; they surrounded him in a tight circle and all seemed to want to know more about how he was the controller and composer of thunder, as if the golden-haired boy was already an expert on the subject. With a huge grin plastered on his face, the Odinson basked in the popularity with a cool and confident nonchalance, and if he had _intended_ for that to happen the entire time. Loki rolled his eyes at his brother’s display, but there was a small, good-hearted smile on his face all the same. He watched Thor place a welcoming hand onto Fandral’s back and even admitted that the boy had “fought well” – which was about as close as he could expect Thor to come to giving an apology. Fandral, too, had already long forgotten their dispute, and the two embraced excitedly, establishing their newfound friendship.

 

Loki felt the smallest twinge of jealousy.

 

It took Thor less than a minute, even amongst the craziness, to search for his brother in the small crowd. When he spotted the raven-haired boy standing alone outside of the circle, his grin expanded even wider. Not taking his eyes off of him, Thor pushed through the other children and then ran over to Loki, picking him up and lifting him off the ground in a rough squeeze. Loki groaned between fits of laughter.

 

“Ugghhh, Thor!”

 

“Did you see me, brother, did you!?” Thor shouted happily, ignoring the grunts that Loki jokingly let out at being compressed so tightly.

 

“Put me down, you oaf!” Loki wheezed lightheartedly; Thor laughed again and finally lowered him to the ground. Upon letting him go, Loki pretended that he was breathing the air for the first time, clasping his hands around his throat and overdramatically inhaling loudly. Thor chuckled, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

 

“My little brother: always the joker!” he said lovingly, and Loki smiled back, now laughing too. “But tell me you _did_ see!”

 

Loki nodded. “How could I not? Not even _Father’s_ mood spells have ever conjured the lightning before!”

 

Thor’s grin stretched impossibly larger on his face at the mention of their father. “I must go and tell him! He will be so proud!” Before Loki could respond, Thor turned on his heel and made to run from the field, pausing only to stop next to the instructor and quickly say: “I am going to tell the Allfather of my recent accomplishment! Good day!”

 

“But – wait!” the instructor sputtered, but Thor was already halfway across the grassy plain by then. Quickly, the instructor turned to the rest of the children and said in exasperation, “I must accompany him. We were near out of time for today, anyways. Good job today and I expect you to be prompt and on time tomorrow.” He looked back to Thor’s now tiny dot of a body in the distance and then heaved a heavy sigh and started running after him.

 

Loki watched them both disappear and then spared a glance in the other children’s direction. They were all now talking excitedly amongst themselves, and Loki did not even realize that while he watched them, one boy in particular was watching _him_.

 

Loki wanted to go and join them so badly; to share in the discussion of what had just happened, of how impressive Thor was – for surely, if anyone could contribute to such a conversation, it was Thor’s little brother and best friend. He could regale them with so many wonderful stories about Thor, and even if they were listening because they were interested in his brother – and _not_ because they held any interest in him – they were at least still including him.

 

But he knew that none of them desired his presence, for he always saw through their false politeness. He was not stupid; he recognized that their façade was only consistently played out for their own sake, so Thor would not banish them from his circle of friends. Just because Loki always held hope that they would one day come to accept him as a friend, too, did not mean that he was oblivious to how they felt _now_. So he walked away from the clique and took a seat at the base of a tree not too far from them. Reopening his book, he picked up reading where he had left off. He had once again immersed himself into the text when someone approached him, blocking his sunlight. Loki looked up to see one of the boys from the class looking down at him. It was Raghild, a kid one year older than Thor and one who had been notorious about making his opinion of the younger Prince well known. There was a sneer on his face, and his auburn hair seemed to appear as though it were on fire from the cast of the sun’s light behind him.

 

Loki acknowledged the look on Raghild’s face and then looked from side to side questioningly. “…Yes?” he asked quietly after a minute had passed and still, the older boy had yet to speak. Raghild folded his arms across his chest and spoke so he knew the other kids could hear him. “So your brother is truly an Aesir now, huh?” he asked loudly. Loki lowered his eyes back to his book and tried not to look intimidated; Raghild was unpleasant to say the least, and this was not the first time he had targeted Loki in Thor’s absence. The moment he spoke, the other children stopped speaking and turned to see what was going on.

 

“The god of thunder,” Raghild continued, staring down at the puny Prince. “Guess that just leaves you now, doesn’t it, _my Lord_?” When Loki still did not respond, Raghild squatted down so that he was now at eye level. “Are you _sure_ you are an Aesir? I am not even sure you are truly an Odinson!” Standing again now, he feigned a look of surprised concern and turned to the other kids, shrugging. “Are we so sure that the Allfather did not simply _adopt_ him? You look nothing like them,” he spun, directing the last remark back at Loki.

 

Loki bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing; he hated himself for not being better at masking his emotions. He had never really stopped and considered how he looked in relation to the rest of his family, but now that Raghild mentioned it, he supposed he _did_ stand out a little.

 

“Are you sure you are not a _goddess_?” Raghild continued, laughing tauntingly. Some of the children began to laugh; others sniggered. Some appeared uncomfortable at the unwarranted attack, but remained silent, for if people did not outright dislike Loki, they for some reason still felt uncomfortable around him, all the same. “I do say that I believe you would be much better suited as a Vanir than an Aesir – are you sure the King did not acquire you in the Vanaheim? Hmm?” Once more, he squatted back down to Loki’s level, only this time he snatched the book from Loki’s hands. Loki reached out for it, but Raghild simply tossed it over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of the young Prince. “You are far too scrawny to be a warrior and engage in a warrior’s battle; look how he fails in the arena in hand-to-hand combat! And his skills with a sword are no better – he practically topples over due to the weight!”

 

More laughter from behind them.

 

Loki’s pale face began to blush horribly until it was a deep shade of red as he used every ounce of his strength not to cry. If he cried, they would win. If he cried, he would never stand a chance at having a friend other than Thor; the entire realm would hear about it, he was sure of it. He tried to shut out the sound of Raghild’s taunting and the children’s jeering, but trying to drown it out only seemed to make it grow louder in his ears. He could feel a familiar rumbling of his own, that felt like it was coming from the deepest pit of his belly but really seemed to swell around his frantically-beating heart. He felt it building with each of Raghild’s words and he wanted to groan, because no, he knew this feeling, and bad things tended to happen whenever he felt this feeling, and why had Thor left him? Why could he not be here now to aid him?

 

“Look how he cowers – the fair maiden!” Raghild laughed, and he smiled with glee as his last insult seemed to inspire him. Turning to the other children, he started chanting, “Fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden…” And to Loki’s horror, the other children started repeating it back to him, and soon they were all shouting it at him (all except one), and their words assaulted Loki, slapping at his skin and stabbing into him, and they hurt more than any sword’s blade could. He covered his head with his arms and lowered his head to his knees in a desperate attempt to drown them out – and that unknown swelling in his chest expanded and made him feel like he was going to burst.

 

Fandral watched, but he had not joined in. His eyes could not seem to tear themselves off of the two boys in front of him, and even though he felt as though he _should_ be participating, the sight disturbed him. Stepping forward amidst the chanting and leaning towards Raghild, Fandral tried to speak over the cantillation, saying, “Stop this, Raghild. We should be going now. Thor will no doubt –”

 

But Raghild just began to continue the chant, raising his volume to drown out Fandral’s advises. He turned and flashed Fandral a warning look; a glance that told him to either join in, or get lost. And so Fandral turned and looked back once more at Loki - who sat there in a tight ball and shook all over but did not try and fight back, not with fists or words – and he knew he should step in and try to put a stop to it. He knew it, but despite however brave he was with a sword, he was a coward in moments like these; so he turned and ran towards the palace, deciding that informing Thor and the Allfather was the next best thing.  

 

Raghild did not notice Fandral’s disappearance. With each chant of “fair maiden,” he inched himself closer to Loki and his voice grew louder. The young Prince trembled and the sight filled Raghild with joy because how _dare_ this pitiful excuse of a warrior, who was nothing more than a tagalong – a pest - whenever anyone tried to get close to Thor, think that he was worthy to train alongside them and be in their presence? Reaching out a hand, he roughly shoved Loki so that the young boy teetered back and lost his balance, forcing him out of his secure little ball and opening him back up to the criticism being flung mercilessly at him. Like parrots, the rest of the kids still echoed the words from behind the tormentor.

 

Raghild stood back up, so that Loki would be forced to look _up_ at him; so the young Prince would recognize his true place in the world. “Fair maiden!” he snarled. Loki’s bottom lip quivered.

 

“S-Stop…” he whispered, so quietly that it almost was not audible at all. He had to stop the swelling… or else bad things would happen… Raghild paid no attention.

 

“Fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden…” Raghild’s voice blended in with the others and they began to build together into one, unified crescendo.

 

Loki’s hands were now in his hair, tugging at the black tresses by the roots. It was stretching him out so much… his lungs, his chest, his heart… he felt like he was about to explode… “Stop!” he begged, this time louder. His voice broke.

 

“Fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden, fair maiden, FAIR MAIDEN, FAIR MAIDEN, FAIR MAIDEN, FAIR MAIDEN FAIR MAIDEN FAIR MAIDEN FAIR MAIDEN FAIRMAIDEN FAIRMAIDEN FAIRMAIDEN FAIRMAIDEN FAIRMAIDENFAIRMAIDENFAIRMAIDENFAIRMAIDENFAIRMAIDENFAIRMAIDEN!”

 

Loki gritted his teeth together as he squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear managing to snake its way out of the corner of his eyes and sliding down his cheek. The swelling was now pulsing into his veins, coursing through his limbs, and he wanted to stop it, because bad things happened, but he didn’t know if he could now. Thrusting his hands in front of him, palms flat, like he would try and halt an oncoming attacker, the threshold was broken, and Loki screamed, “STOP IT!!!!!!!!!”

 

The chanting immediately stopped. Loki heard a collective gasp, and then a scream that at first sounded like a young girl’s but then distinctly sounded like Raghild’s. And then the rest of the children began to scream in panic. Loki opened one eye to tentatively see what had happened, and then the second flew open in shock. Still standing in the light and blocking Loki’s sun, Raghild’s auburn hair once again appeared as though it was in flames – until Loki realized that this time, the boy’s hair really _was in flames._ He sat rooted to the ground, gaping like a fish and unable to move, as his bully ran in circles, shrieking with fear; until a small number of the group removed their tunics and began to practically beat Raghild over the head with them in an attempt to put out the flame. The sight would have been comical, had Loki not been horrified at what he had just done.

 

Just as the last of the flames were extinguished, Raghild’s once shaggy copper-coloured hair now burnt unattractively into large and small tuffs, Loki looked up to see the unmistaken form of one of the palace’s guards riding in on a horse – coming straight for him. His father knew. Loki gulped. His father knew what he had done and now he was going to be punished for it. With shaking legs, he slowly got to his feet just as the horse came to a halt beside him.

 

“Prince Loki, my King has sent me to retrieve you. He wishes to speak to you at once,” the guard informed him, dismounting the horse.

 

Loki wiped the dirt off of his pants, his face burning hot again with embarrassment. “I know,” he mumbled in a defeated tone. The guard lifted him off the ground and helped him onto the horse. Loki tried really hard not to make eye contact with Raghild, who held his hands over his head in a desperate attempt to mask the damage. The older boy stared at him with a seething hatred; the other kids stared at him with a mixture of shock, fear, and disgust.

 

The guard gently tapped each side of the horse with his heels, beckoning it to start moving again. They began to head back in the direction of the castle, the only thought on Loki’s mind being the fear of what his father was about to say to him. How disappointed would he be? What punishment would he have to face this time? Would Thor be angry with him for setting his friend’s hair aflame? Would his mother believe him when he told her that it was not his fault; that he hadn’t meant to? Because he had _tried_ to keep it contained, he really had, and he did not know what was wrong with him, or why he was able to do those sorts of strange things, and he hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to… right?

 

Raghild shook with a deep and powerful rage. “Mischief!” he shrieked into the open air, and Loki heard it and turned to look back at him with a puzzled, scared expression as they rode away. “GOD OF _MISCHIEF_! HE WAS SENT HERE TO TERRORIZE AND DESTROY! HOW DARE…”

 

And then his voice became lost in the distance, and was replaced by the sound of the wind; Loki turned back around, but his lips were pressed into a hard frown as he tried not to cry. _God of mischief_. Whereas Thor was the god of thunder. Why did everyone always think the worst of him?! All he ever did was _try_ … try to be a good kid, a good warrior, a good student, a good Prince, a good brother, a good son… _God of mischief_. Was that really what he was? What if Raghild was right? _God of mischief._ He hated the way that sounded; the implications that came with it. Mischief – up to no good.

 

He sighed. No one was ever going to like him now.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note: Uh Ohhhh, what’s Odin going to say? Dun, dun, duuuuun! In the next chapter, Loki learns that he can wield magic, while Frigga questions Odin as to why exactly this is (hint: given his true parentage, it is argued that he should not be able to do that). We are taken back – in part – to when Odin first discovers Loki in the Jotunheim, and what the Allfather did that day… Also, there will be the beginning of cute Frigga + Little Loki feels. Hurray!**

 

 

  


	4. PART ONE - CHAPTER THREE

*****Author’s Note:** **As always, I don’t own Thor, Marvel, the characters, or any recognizable plot or dialogue.**

* * *

**HOW TO MAKE A MONSTER**

**PART ONE – CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

Loki was practically shaking by the time he and the guard entered the main hall of the palace. He could see his father standing just off to the side of his throne, his mother and older brother next to him. They appeared to be talking. Loki downcast his misty green orbs and made a point to stare at the floor as they approached, scared to meet the Allfather’s eye and see that familiar look of shame he always seemed to be met with from everybody. He wondered how the King had even gotten word of the incident with Raghild so quickly; it seemed like the other children were only _just_ beating out the flames when he spotted the guard coming his way by horse. Though, he guessed it didn’t overly surprise him; it seemed like everyone was always just _waiting_ to be able to tell on him.

 

The moment the three noticed him, Odin straightened on ceremony; Frigga clasped her hands over her mouth, and Thor clenched his teeth and set off bolting towards his little brother. The quick blur of the blonde-haired god coming at him caught Loki’s eye, and his head snapped up and he was suddenly overcome with a strange sense of fear. Thor looked positively enraged – was it because of him? He bit his lip, his little heart hammering in his chest, and he waited for his big brother to bridge the gap between them and tackle him to the ground with all of his might.

 

Instead, Thor opened his arms at the last minute and slammed his body into Loki’s in an immediate, tight embrace; wrapping his arms protectively around the raven-haired boy’s tiny frame and squeezing him against his body. The sudden impact knocked all the wind out of Loki, and he let out a loud, “Ooof!”

 

The blonde buried his face against Loki’s shoulder and held onto him firmly. “Brother, I am so sorry,” he apologized, his voice laced with sorrow. “I should not have left you; that was foolish of me!” After a few more seconds, he loosened his hold and pulled back, his hands planting on Loki’s shoulders. He scoped out Loki’s face, searching it for any signs of injury. “Good Fandral informed us of who did this to you,” he told him, his voice calm but shaking. “Give me word and I will see that he faces justice by my hand!”

 

Loki peered behind him and looked around the room. “Fandral?” he repeated with surprise. “Where is he?”

 

Thor turned Loki’s head back in his direction, his gaze serious. That same hand moved upward and gripped onto the side of Loki’s neck, holding his head there. “Father dismissed him – and that is of no importance right now!” He leaned in and nodded with conviction, a glimmer in his eye. “Raghild will not walk away from this unscathed! I will see to it that he pays for what he has done to you and meets the mighty wrath of Thor!” he shouted.

 

Loki’s eyes widened. Relief passed over him. Then, his lips curled up into a smile and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “ _Must_ you be so overdramatic, brother?” he giggled over the sight of his older sibling’s face becoming a hilariously unnecessary shade of red. He feigned a look of mockery and jested, “‘The mighty wrath of Thor’, huh? I see who inherited the entire ego one can possess – you seem to have taken my share as well!”

 

Thor blinked, surprised by Loki’s response. Then a large grin swept across his round face and he released his grip on his brother’s shoulders and punched him lightly in the arm. He pulled the small body back against his and hugged him a second time, and this time, Loki returned the gesture. “But are you alright?” Thor asked with concern.

 

Loki nodded against his robes. “I am alright,” he confirmed, his voice muffled. He moved out of the embrace, sighing. “Though I cannot say the same with confidence about Raghild.”

 

The elder looked to him questioningly and opened his mouth to speak when their father’s voice interrupted them. “Thor, Loki,” he called to them. “Come.” His voice sounded stern but did not hold the disappointment or anger that Loki had anticipated. Still, the sound of it was enough to make Loki’s skin prickle and his heart leap into his throat. Expecting the worst, Loki followed the blonde boy and went to Odin. Frigga opened up her arms to her youngest son, and he cast a quick glance at his father to make sure it was alright, before quickening his pace and walking straight into her loving embrace. She lowered herself to her knees and buried her head against his shoulder the same way that Thor had.

 

“My sweet, precious Loki,” she murmured sadly, smoothing his black hair with a delicate hand. The situation felt confusing for the young boy. Perhaps it was because he had gone from one extreme to the other so quickly; being surrounded by a group of taunting, menacing children bent on making him break, to one that bestowed him with pity and loving caresses. Either way, it made Loki feel like he wanted to cry, and he didn’t know whether it was from embarrassment _then_ or gratefulness _now_. He cleared his throat quietly and tried to remain strong. He didn’t want to upset Frigga.

 

“I am alright, mother – I am,” he insisted gently. She loosened her arms around him and looked up to her husband. “It’s getting worse,” he heard her saying with an unusual stoniness to her otherwise melodic voice. “It is not acceptable for these children to think that it is okay to treat a Prince of Asgard – our _son_ – like this,” she said. Loki stiffened, unable to see Odin, and wondering what his response would be.

 

To his surprise, the Allfather answered, “I agree. Loki, come here, my boy.”

 

Loki couldn’t resist that invitation; something within him always leapt with joy the moment his father spoke to him with a kind of gentle acceptance. He quickly turned out of Frigga’s arms and ran to Odin’s side, staring up at him with wide green eyes. The King placed one hand on Loki’s shoulder and the other on Thor’s. “Thor, I want you to take extra care to look out for your brother,” he instructed the elder, whose blue eyes flashed with pride as he nodded his understanding. Loki was about to interject – to argue that he didn’t _need_ Thor to be babysitting him all the time, as much as he loved his brother’s company – when Odin then turned to him and announced, “And for you, Loki, I believe it is time that you began your instruction in the art of wielding magic.”

 

Thor’s eyes widened and he looked to his little brother in surprise. Loki looked stunned. “Magic?” he stammered. “I do not know how to use magic.”

 

Odin gave him a small, knowing smile. “A wise King must always be aware of his strengths,” he told him. “Your brother is gifted with the influence over thunder and lightning.” (Thor beamed proudly at this.) “You possess the ability to not only control such elements as fire and ice, but also to brandish a very powerful sorcery; you have since the day you were born. Have you never wondered why you were capable of making things happen; things your mind could fail to explain – things that those around you could not seem to do?”

 

The mini magician’s eyebrows knitted, the puzzle pieces fitting together in his head. He always knew he had strange abilities. But he wasn’t so sure that he all that much _enjoyed_ the idea that he had this power – putting a name to it only meant that everyone was right about him being different. His parents seemed to sense his inner conflict, Frigga placing a hand on his shoulder and reassuringly telling him, “Both your father and I can wield magic.”

 

Loki looked to her, his eyes growing large. “Really?” he asked, looking from her to Odin. The Allfather nodded. “Though I use it far less frequently than your mother,” he admitted, casting a glance at his wife. There was something strange in his voice that neither son heard. Pushing a smile to his lips, the hand on Loki’s shoulder squeezed. “You will attend your daily lessons each morning, as usual,” the King told him. “And then in the afternoons, you will be given special training by the Queen herself.”

 

The young Prince’s face lit up with excitement. “You will be my teacher?” he squealed, beaming up at Frigga. She smiled fondly at him, chuckling at his newfound eagerness. “Of course, Loki,” she said with a nod. Loki suddenly found himself much more accepting of his gift. But Thor was pouting now. “I wish _I_ knew how to use magic,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and heaving a great sigh. He felt left out.

 

Loki turned to the blonde quickly. “And I wish _I_ knew how to conjure the lightning!” he assured him sympathetically. He was only _partially_ lying, after all; he _did_ envy Thor for his more regal Aesir abilities, but knowing that he was going to be able to spend each afternoon with his mother – his favourite person in the world – made Loki less hesitant about the whole magic thing. Still, he would humour his big brother to make him feel better. “Would you like to trade?” he asked quickly.

 

Thor dropped his arms and gave him a wide, devious grin. “Sure!” he played along, before reaching out and grabbing Loki in his arms. Loki let out a loud peel of laughter as the two boys began grappling. As they play fought, the guard who had fetched the raven-haired boy approached Odin and exchanged words with him. Odin frowned and then dismissed him.

 

“I shall steal _all_ of your magic!” Thor shouted fiercely, tickling Loki’s ribs as both boys howled with laughter. “YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR THE MIGHTY –”

 

“Thor,” Odin groaned tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Both boys immediately froze and looked to him; Frigga had to cover her mouth to hide the smile on her face. Odin’s blue eye moved from Thor to Loki, and then the King sighed. “Loki, what transpired with Raghild?” he asked calmly.

 

Loki’s pale face immediately burned with shame. He was busted. Thor glanced at him with a mixture of a shared nervousness, but also curiosity. He had wanted to know as well. Loki stared at the ground, fumbling with the hem of his tunic beneath his robes. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I set his hair aflame,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. Thor’s eyes grew wide. Frigga looked from her son to her husband in shock, as if she expected the King to react to his confession. But Odin remained silent, instead just keeping his eye on Loki.

 

“You _what_?” Thor asked in bewilderment.  

 

“I set his hair aflame!” Loki cried before covering his face and groaning. There was dead silence in the air around them, and the raven-haired boy felt like it was crushing him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled with exhaustion into his hands. Then he looked up and his shoulders sank. “I’m sorry!” he repeated, this time shouting. He looked to his mother and father desperately. “I didn’t mean to!” he insisted truthfully, his little voice frantic. “He started… chanting, and just… the other children would not stop, and I asked him to, but he wouldn’t! And I felt like I was going to explode, and then suddenly I opened my eyes and Raghild’s hair was on fire…”

 

He stopped speaking then. Really, there was no point in continuing. No matter how he tried to explain it, it just sounded like an excuse. They were either going to believe him or they weren’t. So he held his breath, his wide-eyed stare stuck on his father as he waited nervously. He suddenly jumped when the sound of Thor’s booming laughter broke him from his thoughts. His head quickly snapped in his direction, and he didn’t even notice his mother once again covering his mouth with her hand to hide her soft laughter. Only Odin’s face remained impassive.

 

“Brother, that is BRILLIANT!” Thor howled, bending over and keeling with laughter. “Oh, I wish I could have seen his face!”

 

“Thor,” Frigga admonished, but the small smile on her face was hardly conducive to a harsh tone. “Young Raghild could have been greatly harmed.”

 

“But he wasn’t!” Thor exclaimed, at the same time that Loki defensively repeated, “I didn’t mean to!”

 

Frigga nodded. “We believe you, Loki. That is why you must start training with me, to learn to control your magic. Outbursts such as those can be dangerous to those around you and even to yourself.” She smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, my son, you will be able to control it soon enough.”

 

“In the meantime,” Odin cut in swiftly, “try to avoid contact with anyone and anything that might provoke you. If you feel as though you will lose control, I trust you will simply walk away and let the situation defuse itself.”

 

The two boys stared at Odin for a moment. Loki gulped and then nodded. This wasn’t at all the reaction he had been expecting from his father; Odin hadn’t even so much as scolded him for what he’d done. He’d been punished for much less before, but now he had turned a boy’s head into a walking candlestick and he was being _rewarded_? _Praised_ for his “gift”? It made no sense to the young god. Still, he might as well accept it and enjoy it; he would be a fool to dwell on something like this. So he nodded his understanding. “I promise, father,” he said.

 

Odin nodded in response. “That is all,” he concluded. “You two may leave.”

 

Thor immediately pulled on Loki’s arm to drag him out of the hall, dying to hear all of the details. “What did he do when he realized his hair was on fire?” he asked, his eyes wide and twinkling. Turning his attention to the blonde, Loki grinned and replied, “He started screaming and running in circles!” Because he knew Thor found the whole thing so amusing, Loki settled and allowed himself to enjoy the humour in it as well.

 

“Did he??” Thor let out another loud peel of laughter. “And what happened next?”

 

“The other children started beating his head with their tunics!”

 

This earned Loki another loud, hearty laugh from his big brother. Since the two boys were leaving the hall, their backs to their parents, they didn’t see the faintest of smiles form in the corners of Odin’s lips.

 

* * *

 

Frigga waited until her sons were completely out of sight before turning to her husband, a concerned look etched across her beautiful features. “Why did you tell Loki that he was born with such powers?” she whispered. Odin took a seat on his throne and glanced up at her; his one good eye could not conceal the guilt he felt at having given voice to a deceit. He didn’t answer. Frigga approached him and knelt down beside him. “You and I both know that Loki should not be able to possess such magic – not with his…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The reminder that her baby boy was not of her flesh and blood pained her greatly. She took a deep breath. “Frost Giants are known to be able to perform magic, but only the faintest amount; certainly not to the strength and extent that Loki can.”

 

Odin gave a little sigh, and then reached out and took one of his Queen’s hands in his own. “I did not speak of his literal birth,” he said quietly. “I referred to his Asgardian birth. I was not lying.”

 

Frigga knew her husband had been hiding something from her since the day he arrived home with that beautiful, tiny, fragile baby in his arms. She had always had a sense that she knew what his secret was, but she had yet to hear it come from his own lips. But Odin could not bring himself to voice it. Instead he just looked ahead and said, “I did what was necessary.” Then, he added gently but firmly, “I wish to be alone.”

 

Frigga regarded him for a bit before sighing and rising to her feet. She was not upset with her husband; she could sense his sadness, she just wished he would open up to her and tell her where it stemmed from. But she acquiesced to his request, turning and leaving his side. Odin remained unmoving, but inside, he reeled. He thought of Loki, his son, and the powerful, magical energy that he possessed – that was so powerful that he could barely contain it. This was what he had feared would happen since that fateful day. It felt like so long ago… but maybe that was just what happened when you created a lie. Finally breaking, he let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward, covering his face with his hands and wondering how he had ever gotten here.

 

* * *

 

*****AUTHOR’S NOTE: This chapter kind of changed from what I originally intended to write. I’ve decided to leave Odin’s secret – what happened on the day he took Loki from the Jotunheim – for another chapter, to keep you all guessing, eheheheh. I also know I implied that Loki would start his training with Frigga and that there would be Frigga feels, this will be the focus of the next chapter, I promise. I’ve been doing so much writing lately, that this felt like the right place to end it for now.**

 

 

 

 


	5. PART ONE - CHAPTER FOUR

**Author’s Note: Apologies to anyone who was hoping for the big reveal of Odin’s secret :P This didn’t feel like the right time to include it, so you will just have to wait with bated breath for another chapter or two. I PROMISE it’s coming, though! Delayed gratification, my friends.**

**I do not own Marvel, Thor, or any recognizable plot or characters.**

* * *

**HOW TO MAKE A MONSTER**

**PART ONE: CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

By the following day, it hadn’t taken long for something of note to have happened. It wasn’t the insincere apology that Raghild gave Loki, or the hefty black eye that Thor had given _Raghild_ ; it was how quickly word had passed around Asgard of the incident. All morning, as Loki trailed alongside his big brother, he could’ve sworn he heard the term “God of Mischief” being whispered behind shielded hands. Behind his back. Everyone’s eyes were on him – both young and old - and the black-haired boy kept his own glued to his feet even more so than usual. He _had_ woken up excited that morning, because he knew that in the afternoon, he was going to be starting his first lesson with his mother. He had told himself that _this_ he would keep in mind – that he would hold onto this and not let anything damper his good mood.

 

Thor heard the whispers, too. At first, he kept his gaze ahead and his expression unfaltering; breaking it only to spare side glances at Loki’s face to see how _he_ was handling it. And every time, green eyes would not meet blue; instead, remaining fixed downwards at the ground. The mini thunder god could see the faint patches of rose blotching his pale cheeks in shame. This infuriated him – how _dare_ these people, who did not even _know_ Loki, speak of him so disrespectfully. It was not _what_ they were saying, but _how_ they were saying it. Admittedly, he was not himself so sure what “God of Mischief” was supposed to mean or why people would associate such a title with Loki in the first place, for he had never known his younger sibling to be one for deliberate misconduct. But that didn’t matter. Even if his brother was the mischief god, he would be _proud_ of Loki. All it would mean was that he was assuming his purpose in life, and how could that possibly be a bad thing? An Aesir was an Aesir – and his brother was, and always would be, his brother.  

 

So when they were on their way to their morning combat lesson, walking through the market to get to their destination on the outset of the woods, Thor had had enough. The grownups parted to let them pass – as they always did – when the muffled gossip began once more. It was low and quiet, and rang around them like the annoying buzzing of small insects. Thor tried to keep his gaze firm and forward. He could see Loki keeping up beside him, and from his peripherals, he didn’t even have to look to know that his green orbs were once again staring downward with embarrassment. Thor considered his options; what he _wanted_ to do was stop right there, spin on everyone, and make them feel his mighty wrath. He wished he knew how to summon the lightning again, like he had the day before. He pictured himself pointing at each accuser triumphantly, a bolt of lightning striking from the sky and blowing each one of them up, one by one. It was only a _little_ gruesome in his mind – mostly, it was just funny. He had to keep from sneering.

 

But though he hated to admit it – and he _wouldn’t_ in the face of his peers and friends – he hadn’t yet figured out how he had conjured the storm. He certainly didn’t know how he would do it again. Furthermore, if he did something like that - if he caused a scene in any way - it didn’t take a genius to know that it would still somehow only reflect badly upon Loki. Usually Thor enjoyed the fact that no one ever dared speak ill of him; he knew he could probably get away with much more than they accused Loki of doing and come out without consequence (with the exception of the Allfather). When it was in relation to his little brother, however, it was different. The blonde would have gladly turned the tides and taken the poisonous words a hundred times over if it meant Loki didn’t have to.

 

So, Thor considered, even though it was extremely hard for him to contain his anger, it was in Loki’s best interest that he did. _Okay,_ he thought to himself. So he would do it. Simple enough. If these people wanted to hurt Loki with words, then he would take a page from his little brother’s book and retaliate with the same weapon.

 

Breaking his stride, he wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulder and pulled the smaller boy against him as the two continued through the crowd. “Do not let these people bring you down, brother,” he said loudly. Loki’s brows creased and he stared up at Thor with his mouth open quizzically. The golden-haired god just gave him a grin that stretched across his whole face. “They are just _jealous_!” he hollered, directing the last word over his shoulder. “ _They_ wish they could have powers as extraordinary and unique as your own! I wish _I_ could be the god of mischief – have you _any_ idea how amazing that is?” His voice grew increasingly louder until he was almost screeching, that smile still on his face. Loki looked almost horrified as he looked from Thor to the crowd around them.

 

“Why are you shouting?” he asked nervously.

 

“I am just excited for you, brother!” Thor retorted quickly, squeezing him closer. They were so close to being out of the market; he just needed to buy a tiny bit more time to continue silencing the whispers. “I know Father and Mother are as well! And I doubt they would be pleased to hear the names of those who wish to argue _otherwise_!” He looked behind him for that last sentence, sending the words back to the adults still watching them. He glared and they all averted their eyes uncomfortably. _Now_ he could sneer, and turning his head to look forward again, he did.

 

* * *

 

When they were once again alone, Loki glanced down on the hand still squeezing his shoulder and then wriggled out of it. Thor didn’t think much of it. They continued to walk on.

 

“I am not the ‘god of mischief’,” Loki mumbled quietly under his breath, refusing to blink.

 

Thor shrugged. “We do not know that. The possibilities are endless – you can be _anything_.” He shot Loki a quick glance, narrowing his eyes. “And what would be the problem with being the god of mischief anyways? It would be a free pass to do whatever you wish.”

 

Loki kicked a pebble mid-stride. “But everyone likes you,” he said sadly. “You can already get away with anything. I just want to fit in; I do not desire to stand out.”

 

Thor stopped then. “Why do you speak with so much dejection?” he asked, turning to the younger boy. “You know I would do everything in my power to stop anyone from causing you harm.”

 

Loki stuffed his hands in his pockets and groaned. “I want others to _actually_ like me, Thor! Not simply because you force it to be so.”

 

Thor frowned. “People like you, Loki,” he said obliviously.

 

“No one likes me.”

 

The blonde paused, his heart sinking. He was conflicted between wanting to hug his brother and wanting to set fist to face upon anyone and everyone who had made his sibling feel this way. He reached one hand out and gripped the side of Loki’s neck. “ _I_ like you,” he insisted with a small, tender smile.

 

Loki looked up at him. He gave a half-hearted, sad smile in return and nodded. “I know. I like you too, brother… even if you _can_ be a pompous clod sometimes.” His smile grew slightly bigger, that familiar twinkle in his eye. Relieved, Thor grinned and let go so he could playfully punch Loki in the shoulder. He chuckled for a few moments and then both boys turned at the same time and continued onward to their destination.

 

There was more silence.

 

“Do you really think Mother and Father would be proud of me if I was in fact the god of mischief?” Loki finally blurted lowly, his brother’s previous comment eating away at him.

 

Had Thor been even ten years older, he might have thought the answer to be different. He would’ve recognized the connotations that came with such a title. He would’ve felt confident in assuring him that their mother would most likely still be proud – because Loki was still her son, and she loved him no matter what he was. Odin might have provoked a different answer, however. Odin was not one for mischief, or drawing unnecessary attention to one’s self. He was all about stature and reputation; keeping the Odinson name a respected one.

 

Then again, neither Thor nor Loki would be the same boys in ten year’s time. Not even five year’s time. They would grow and change as children do – and circumstances would take place that would morph the raven-haired boy’s heart in ways that would’ve seemed impossible to them now.

 

But in this moment - at this time - Loki never thought it would be in his nature to be the god of mischief, and Thor was too naïve to understand why their father would be disappointed when rumours proved to be true.

 

So he responded with all of the sincerity his ten-year-old self possessed: “I believe they would. They _did_ say that they both have the ability to wield magic, too; I imagine they are excited to know that their powers were passed down to at least _one_ of their offspring.” He shoved Loki lightly, half out of jealousy and half to try and pull the younger sibling out of his depression. It was unlike Loki to be so sullen, and the blonde hated seeing him this way. “Father would probably see great use for you on the battlefield,” he noted thoughtfully. “I do not know what a god of mischief _does_ , but it would _have_ to be beneficial against the enemy!”

 

Loki scrunched his nose. He wasn’t so sure how much use he’d be at _all_ on the battlefield.

 

When they could find see the clearing – the other children already seated in the grass up ahead and waiting for the instructor so they could begin the day’s training – Loki’s stomach twisted into a knot. His step faltered, and he considered turning in the other direction and bolting away. Thor could sense the tension. “It will be alright, Loki,” he assured him firmly, keeping his eyes on the group and already trying to locate where Raghild was sitting. “Do not give them the satisfaction of knowing they have bothered you.”

 

Loki wanted to glare at his brother and icily retort how easy that was for Thor to say; that the older sibling couldn’t possibly understand where his fear stemmed from, or how difficult it was to always turn the other cheek. For a split second, he wanted to attack Thor with the same verbal poison that everyone always seemed to bestow upon him, just so the thunder god could understand how much it hurt. But he caught himself in time, knowing that such words would do no more than unnecessarily wound Thor’s feelings, despite the latter’s efforts to help. Somewhere deep down, Loki wondered what had suddenly possessed him to want to voice such things; bitterness was not in his nature (right?). So instead, he just held his tongue and nodded.

 

Silence fell over the other children the moment their eyes fell onto Thor and (more specifically) Loki. Raghild sat at the back of the bunch, his right eye practically swollen shut and bruised a gruesome mixture of purple and black. He refused to look up at Loki, and his gaze only rose and met Thor’s once. It lasted the briefest of seconds before the (former) redhead nervously averted his stare and looked back down at the ground in embarrassment. Loki stopped behind Thor and looked around the group with distress, not knowing where it was safe to sit. He knew that none of them wished to be so close to him; they didn’t have to say it.

 

Thor left him no room to decide, however. He grabbed his little brother’s arm and pulled him along and then to the ground, sitting on the outer edge of the group next to Fandral. The two older boys exchanged greetings and then conversed lightheartedly. Thor thanked his new friend once again for giving his family word of what had happened to Loki the day before – making sure his voice carried loud enough to reach Raghild’s red ears. It was then that Loki spared a glance at his latest victim from beneath dark lashes; his heart leaped to his throat when he saw Raghild glower up at him before quickly looking away again. He almost didn’t hear Fandral speaking to _him_ now.

 

“Loki?” the voice asked, breaking him from his thoughts. Loki blinked and then glanced at the other golden-haired boy, who had placed a hand on the small boy’s back and was staring at him quizzically.

 

“Huh? What?”

 

Fandral smiled sympathetically. “I asked if you were doing alright, my Prince.”

 

Loki nodded, perhaps too quickly. “I am alright,” he repeated for about the hundredth time over the last twenty-four hours. It felt like it was programmed into his system, even if the statement tasted like a lie. Redirecting the focus from himself, he said, “Thank you for what you did yesterday.”

 

Fandral patted his back and then lowered his hands onto his lap, looking from him to the god of thunder. “It was not a problem. I only apologize that I did not do more; I should have intervened and stopped Raghild myself,” he admitted shamefully.

 

Loki wanted to assure him that it was fine; that he didn’t blame Fandral for failing to get directly involved because he too had shied from the same action when it had been the older youth on the receiving end. On an objective level, he understood what it was like to feel you had to avoid doing what was right in favour of what was easy. Subjectively, however, he couldn’t help but want to _agree_ ; to subtly imply that he would’ve been better off if Fandral _had_ stepped in and stuck up for him. So he opted to say nothing at all.

 

Thor reached out and slapped a heavy hand onto the back of Fandral’s shoulder. “Think of it no more,” he told him. “It is in the past now. I have dealt with it.” The two blondes glanced over at Raghild and then sniggered quietly at the sight of the black eye Thor had so willingly given him the evening prior. Loki kept his own green orbs on the grass by his legs, which he pulled out of the ground absentmindedly. He didn’t want to make eye contact with his bully anymore. He didn’t want to see that familiar look of hatred, or the other children gawking at him shamelessly from his peripherals.

 

Perhaps it was the elephant in the room, but it felt like it took forever for their instructor to finally arrive. He set down the bag of weapons and then straightened himself and crossed his arms across his broad chest, his long blonde beard getting pinned beneath them. His stare focused on Thor, Loki, and Fandral, and then quickly swept across the other children’s faces before landing on Raghild’s on the other side of the huddle. “I trust that we will not have a repeat of what occurred yesterday,” he said in a gruff voice. Whether he was referring to the incident with the lightning, Loki setting Raghild’s hair on fire, or Thor giving Raghild a black eye, none of them knew for sure. Loki assumed it was probably all of the above.

 

They all nodded quickly. The raven-haired magician was especially relieved at the thought of trying to move past the incident; in a perfect world, everyone could eventually just forget all together. He had to at least entertain the idea, no matter how improbable it was. The instructor eyed them all suspiciously but then nodded his head, apparently satisfied. Kneeling down, he began to pull out the wooden swords one by one. “I believe we left off with Fandral as the victor of yesterday’s match.” He quickly shot Thor a look. “Right?” he asked exasperatedly.

 

Thor’s lips pressed into a firm line at the reminder of his loss but then he met Fandral’s eye and forced a smile. “Yes, Fandral was the winner,” he conceded. Fandral heaved a small sigh of relief. Looking back to their instructor, Thor inquired, “Who will he be faced against, Master Sten?”

Sten’s eyes immediately fell onto the younger Odinson. He would never have said it out loud, for their instructor was a man of few words and even those were chosen with extreme care, but he rather liked Loki and disagreed with the treatment he received from the other children. He himself had wanted to cheer when he heard the news of the black-haired boy bestowing payback onto Raghild, for he’d seen the elder pick on him on numerous occasions. Sten didn’t like bullies; he believed in a warrior having a warrior’s heart, even if they had to learn it through tough love.

 

That same belief carried over into his view of Loki, too. Tough love – the only way the tiny Prince was ever going to be able to learn how to hold his own in battle. It was no secret that Loki was the weakest fighter of the group, and he had tried to make a point of picking him less and less over the past many months in an attempt to spare him the humiliation of failing yet _another_ time. But when he learned of the boy’s incident with Raghild, he considered that perhaps Loki possessed a greater strength that the others gave him credit for. He believed that the boy could be a great fighter if pushed hard enough.

 

“Fandral’s opponent will be Loki Odinson.”

 

Allair surrounding the black-haired boy was sucked away, as if into the clouds, the moment his name was spoken. His head snapped up and his face went impossibly paler. This only gave the other children an excuse to stare at him collectively, and Loki had never felt more exposed. He wished he could shrink into the ground and hide within the blades of grass. He shot a nervous glance at Fandral, who stared at him with a sudden, strange look of fear. Thor looked just as shocked as his little brother.

 

“No, I really don’t have to –” Loki stammered quickly.

 

But Sten stood undeterred. “That was not a request,” he answered simply. He held out a hand and gestured to the empty space beside him. “Please step forward.”

 

Loki gave him a pleading look, but then sighed and got to his feet when he saw that his instructor wasn’t budging. He kept his back to the others when he approached Sten’s side, taking a few shallow breaths. When he finally turned and saw everyone’s eyes boring up at him, his heart hammered away frantically in his tiny chest.

 

But Fandral didn’t move. Sten looked down to the blonde with an expectant expression, but Fandral’s eyes just jumped from him to Loki quickly. His mouth hung open slightly and he looked bewildered. He didn’t want to fight Loki. It wasn’t because he knew that the young Aesir wouldn’t stand a chance and he didn’t want to be the one to embarrass him like that; it was because, there was a difference between trying to stand up for Loki when his magic affected _another_ person, and being on the receiving end of it himself. Fandral wasn’t susceptible to the rumours that were going around, and he knew that the Prince’s magic had a habit of being unleashed unpredictably. He could be sparring against Loki and suddenly find his _own_ hair set aflame, or his clothes having vanished, or his body dangling fifty feet above the ground by an unseen force. Children’s minds really are the most creative things, and in this case, Fandral’s imagination was running wild.

 

“Fandral, please get to your feet,” Sten urged sternly. But it didn’t matter; Fandral wouldn’t budge. Sighing, the instructor looked to the other children. “Alright, Fandral has declined battle. Who would like to take his place?”

 

No one said anything. All eyes were locked on Loki; some faces were hard and judgemental, others were impassive. All of their orbs held the same, single emotion, though: fear. Even Raghild – who, of all the children, should’ve been the one gladly volunteering for a chance to exact his revenge against the young magician – remained frozen in place. Even he seemed to know better. Loki fidgeted where he stood, his pale face quickly changing to a bright shade of pink as he fought the tears threatening to gather in his eyes. Never before had he felt so alone, so humiliated.

 

Sten sighed, feeling frustrated with the children’s cowardice and also guilty for putting Loki in such a position. Perhaps this had not been a good idea after all. “One of you will have to face Loki. If no one volunteers, I will be forced to pick and that person will not have a choice,” he said. The children looked to one another, each seeming to hope that someone _else_ would be the one to sacrifice themselves. Thor watched them incredulously. He couldn’t believe they were behaving this way! When it became apparent to him that no one was going to be brave enough, Thor’s hand shot straight into the air. “I will do it,” he announced.

 

There was a moment of more silence. The rest of the blonde’s peers looked to him with surprise and an unmistaken relief. Loki’s eyes grew wide with dread – no, no, no, not Thor. Anyone but Thor. He would’ve even gladly taken on Raghild if it meant he didn’t have to face his older brother. There was no possible way this could end well for him. Sten regarded the elder Odinson wearily. He knew better than any of them how unevenly matched the fight would be if Loki faced off against Thor. “I do not know if that is wise, Thor,” he said slowly.

 

But the mini thunder god just gave him a confident look, as if the instructor should trust in him. “I must,” he pressed. He flashed the other children a glare. “Since everyone here is too intimidated by my brother to fight him themselves. They fear that they will lose,” he challenged. Some of them grunted in disapproval; most of them averted their eyes in shame. He rose to his feet, sparing his last scowl at Fandral and mentally cursing his friend for putting him in this situation. He didn’t want to face off against his brother more than _any_ of them – even if it were for different reasons - but he couldn’t just sit there and watch Loki suffer up there alone any longer.

 

No one said a word as Thor reached down and picked up two wooden swords. He walked over to Loki and held one out to him, the other gripped in his right hand. The smaller Prince stared down at the weapon with wide eyes, unmoving. Thor quickly glanced at the others and then back to Loki. “Brother, please,” he whispered. Green eyes met blue and Loki knew he couldn’t refuse the plea in his older sibling’s voice. Sighing, his shoulders slumping, he reluctantly reached out and took the sword, needing to grip it with both hands in order to properly manage its weight.

 

Sten regarded them a few moments longer and then sighed again, moving out of their way. “Weapons at the ready,” he instructed in a loud voice. Slowly, uncertainly, Thor lifted the faux blade into his traditional opposition stance. Loki did some sort of attempt at the same, his skinny arms already shaking slightly at the exertion. Thor winced, quickly questioning whether his judgement had failed him. “Ready…” Sten called. “…Begin!”

 

Neither boy moved. Thor hoped that Loki would attack first, and Loki hoped the same from his brother. Neither wanted to make the first move because both knew how this was going to end. “Loki, attack me,” Thor urged quietly. Loki shook his head. The others watched them awkwardly. The blonde god tried to beg with his baby blues that Loki advance – that he needed to _show_ the others that he was not to be pushed around. But his little brother just stared back at him in fright.

 

They remained that way for an uncomfortable length of time. “Brother, you must,” Thor whispered frantically. This time, Loki’s eyes darted to their audience and then back to the blonde. He didn’t know how. With a pained expression, Thor let out a sudden cry and stepped towards his brother, swinging the blade, if only to provoke the younger boy. Impulsively, Loki lifted up his sword and blocked the blow with bulging eyes. Thor paused and quickly looked to the crowd; they had all leaned forward in anticipation. He looked back to Loki. “That’s it, brother, just keep doing that,” he instructed under his breath so only the raven-haired boy could hear.

 

He advanced on Loki again and swung his sword, purposely slowing the movement before the wooden blade could come into contact with the tiny body adorned in green, so that the smaller boy could have the proper reaction time. Loki struggled to swing the blade around at the speed required to block the incoming attacks, but he managed it every time, in the nick of time. Even for wood, the swords were heavy; he wished that they were lighter. He wished that he were _stronger._

 

In reality, the whole thing was a poor display. It was more than evident that Thor was holding back more than fifty percent of his strength to try and give Loki a chance. Everyone saw right through it; Sten, the children, and even Loki picked up on it almost instantly. He despised the way that his brother’s face was painted with deception – as if Loki actually stood a chance. As if he was providing the blonde with any sort of a _challenge_. This only made him feel worse about himself. He knew that the other kids were probably fighting the urge to laugh.

 

After blocking yet another half-hearted swing of Thor’s sword, Loki let out a huff. “Thor, stop that!” he shouted, his voice much stronger than he was expecting. The air around them all was tense and uncomfortable. Thor blinked, his eyebrows knitting together. “I do not –”

 

“You know full well what you’re doing!” Loki accused, tears finally springing to his eyes. “Do not treat me like a helpless babe! Right now, I am no more your brother than I am a Frost Giant; I am but your opponent, so fight me with your full strength!”

 

Thor winced again; he did not like hearing Loki comparing himself to those… monsters. Even if he was trying to merely prove a point. He knew that the smaller boy was right in a way – in these lessons, they were not supposed to let sentiment interfere with training, in order to properly prepare them for life on the _real_ battlefield. But Thor couldn’t separate his sibling from just that – his _brother_ \- into an opponent. Loki was meant to fight _alongside_ of him, not _against_ him, and he didn’t think a day would ever come where he would have to make that distinction.

 

“Loki, please –” he tried to say, looking desperate.

 

But Loki just snarled at him. It scared the golden-haired boy and threw him off; he’d never seen Loki look at him like that. The normally soft and innocent features were twisted into a face that didn’t even look like young Aesir. “You treat me like a weakling!” Loki snapped, using the strength of both his arms to point the tip of the sword accusingly at Thor. “You lack conviction in your attack! Fight me with all of your strength or do not fight me at all – but do not make me to look the fool!”

 

Thor’s eyes widened when Loki suddenly let out a high-pitched cry and ran at him, swinging the mock blade over his head and bringing it down towards his own. Instinctively, Thor raised his own weapon and blocked the offense. His face close to his brother’s, he pleaded, “Loki, do not make me do this!” But Loki swung again, yelling fiercely, “Fight me!”

 

This time, Thor dodged the swing and then, without thinking, connected his elbow with Loki’s back, sending the young Prince flying to the ground. He landed on his side and rolled in the grass a few times. Thor could faintly hear the sound of murmuring and sniggering from the children watching with keen eyes. He didn’t spare them a glance, instead dropping his sword and running to Loki’s side. Kneeling down, he grabbed his brother’s weapon and tossed it away from them. “Brother, I am so sorry,” he said quickly, placing one hand on Loki’s shoulder and reaching with the other to grab one of his hands.

 

Loki didn’t want his help or his pity. His face was a deep shade of crimson; his eyes glistening with tears of indignant humiliation. He smacked Thor’s hand away and then surprised the elder brother by lunging at him, sending the blonde onto his back. “Brother, enough!” Thor shouted as he tried to wrestle Loki off of him; his mind couldn’t comprehend what was going on inside of his little brother’s head – why he was behaving this way. He’d never seen Loki act like this, and it terrified him. He felt the raven-haired boy’s anger and didn’t know what he’d done to Loki to upset him so. But Loki kept his legs pinned to Thor’s sides; one hand gripping the collar of his tunic and the other trying to land feeble punch after punch. The two boys began rolling around in the grass, grunting and panting loudly, with Thor trying to subdue Loki off of him and Loki blindly trying to land a blow.

 

Loki couldn’t think properly. He couldn’t fathom the rage surging through his body and penetrating his mind. He felt betrayed by Thor; somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain, he knew this betrayal was a product of his imagination – Thor had only been trying to help him the best he knew how. But he could hear the mocking laughter of the children and the words that kept pulsing in his head – “God of Mischief, God of Mischief, God of Mischief…” It grew louder and louder and there it was again, that familiar pressure in his chest. It grew with each beat of his heart and made his vision blur in a white fury. ‘Stop!’ a voice in his head screamed anxiously. ‘You do not wish to hurt Thor!’

 

And he didn’t. Not his brother – his one and only friend in the world. But in this moment, Thor was not Thor, but the culmination of everyone who was whispering ill words of him, laughing both to his face and behind his back. Thor was the children who refused to speak to him and the adults who judged his status as an Odinson. He was Fandral, who had refused to stand up for him, and he was Raghild, who had tormented him. Thor was no longer Thor; he was everything Loki despised but could not voice.

 

He drew his fist back again and swung it down towards his brother’s face, his body and his actions feeling as though they were no longer his own. The magic, it pulsed and it swelled and it grew more powerful, and had his little fist made contact, it might have erupted from his body and who knows what would have happened to poor Thor.

 

He wasn’t given the chance, though. The blue-eyed boy saw the punch flying his way and reacted on impulse. “Loki!” he roared nervously, and when the incoming assault didn’t falter, he grabbed Loki’s collar by both hands, dodged the blow, and thrusted his forehead against Loki’s face. It collided into Loki’s nose, and there was a sickening, dull thudding sound. Instantly, the swelling in the mini magician’s chest vanished. Thor’s head spun as the contact reverberated into his brain, given him an instant headache that culminated behind his eyes. The younger Prince’s head snapped back, his eyes flying wide and his fist stopping in the air. Thor let go of the green garments, his hands flying to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. Loki’s body shot away from Thor’s from the momentum and he fall backwards into the grass, stunned.

 

The children gasped and watched with a unified gaping expression. Thor groaned, still disoriented and his palms pressed against his aching forehead. Sten ran past him and over to Loki, who lying flat on his back and was staring wide-eyed up into the clouds, a torrent of blood gushing from his nose. “Loki!” he said in a loud, stern voice that was laced with just the faintest amount of worry. Green eyes slowly rolled over and stared up at him.

 

With a glazed-over look on his face, he gave a small nod, his eyes wide and the fire that had roared within them now completely doused. He groaned lightly as he slowly pushed himself into a seated position. “I am alright,” he repeated quietly, for about the hundredth-and-first time.

 

* * *

 

Loki sat on the edge of a small bed in the Healer’s, his head tilted back and two finely woven pieces of cloth bunched up his nostrils. Thankfully, his nose hadn’t been broken, but it had been a close call. More than anything, it was just annoying; his nose now ached and his teeth were sore. But he couldn’t blame Thor for what he’d done – if anything, that was a gracious act compared to what Loki had _deserved_. Now that they had been removed from the crowd and he had had a chance to calm down, Loki was deeply disturbed by the emotions that had taken over him. He felt an overwhelming guilt for what he’d done to Thor, and wondered if his brother would ever be able to forgive him.

 

That guilt was shared, however. Thor had been waiting impatiently outside of the Healer’s room, being told to wait until Loki’s nose and face were properly cleaned up. They needed to make sure they properly assessed the extent of the young Prince’s injury so they could deal with it right away, lest it get worse. He only waited for about fifteen minutes, but to a ten-year-old boy who thought he’d just shattered his little brother’s nose, it felt like an eternity. He paced back and forth anxiously, pausing every half-minute or so to ask, “ _Now_ may I go in?” Each time he was told no, he would groan in frustration and continue pacing. What if Loki’s nose fell off because all of his bones had turned to powder? What if he lost so much blood that he passed out and would never awaken? What if he _died_? Could one die from having their nose broken?

 

“I didn’t mean to strike him so hard!” he repeated weakly to the guard who was in charge of keeping the thunder god from entering until the time was right. “What if I _killed_ him?!”

 

The guard tried to keep his posture light, despite proper ceremony. “I highly doubt that you have killed him, my Prince,” he reassured him each time in an even tone.

 

“I MIGHT have!” Thor cried, still pacing and covering his face with his hands. “I _might_ have killed him! I didn’t mean to strike him so hard!” he repeated before turning and asking for the countless time, “ _Now_ may I go in?”

 

Eventually, he was finally granted permission and he couldn’t get in that door fast enough. He immediately spotted Loki and ran over to him, sorrow and remorse etched all over his round little face. He saw the small frame – with its head tilted back and blood-soaked pieces of cloth protruding from each nostril – and he wondered how much Loki must have hated him. Despite better protocol, Thor slammed his body into his and immediately pulled the younger boy into a tight embrace. Loki let out a loud, “OUFF!” and teetered backwards; the only thing keeping him from plummeting onto his back being the arms wrapped around him.  “Brother, forgive me!” Thor begged, trying to fight tears. He hated crying. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to injure you like this; I do not know what drove me to such actions!”

 

Loki blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. _Thor_ was apologizing to _him_? But… why? Loki hugged back quickly, relief washing over him. “No, I am the one who should beg for forgiveness,” he insisted in a nasally voice. “I was angry with Raghild and I took it out on you. That was wrong of me, I’m sorry.”

 

It wasn’t entirely a lie; it just wasn’t really the truth. There was so much more to it than that but Loki didn’t know if he fully understood it himself. But he knew that so long as he directed the blame towards his bully, Thor would believe him. In the back of his mind, Loki wondered why lying had suddenly become so natural for him over the last twenty-four hours. It bothered him how good at it he was.

 

And Thor _did_ believe him – thought little else of the reasoning Loki had provided him. Truthfully, it hadn’t really mattered _what_ Loki would’ve said; he could’ve flat out told Thor that he tried so vehemently to attack him because he simply _felt_ like it and Thor still would’ve just nodded and told him that it was alright. “Let us agree then that both are sorry and both are forgiven,” he decided, a small, grateful chuckle escaping his throat. He squeezed his little brother tighter and then let go so he could get a better look at Loki’s face. He gripped onto the right side of Loki’s neck with one hand, his eyes roaming to the injury. “I am glad they did not have to remove your nose,” he breathed a sigh of relief.

Loki cocked an eyebrow. “And _why_ would they have had to do that?”

 

Thor blinked, as if it should have been obvious. “I worried that I had damaged your nose so badly that you might have had no bones left.”

 

Loki tried to laugh but then winced when the action caused his nose and teeth to throb. Inhaling sharply, he gingerly touched his nose and made sure the pieces of cloth were still properly inserted in the nostrils. He glanced at Thor and rolled his eyes playfully. “My brother, so _modest_ ,” he lightheartedly mocked. “Honestly, Brother, I doubt that even you are that strong.”

 

Thor narrowed his eyes, his face feigning insult, before he broke into a smile and punched Loki’s shoulder lightly. Loki winced overdramatically, provoking a look of guilt to quickly cross Thor’s face. “I am so sor—” the blonde started to say, when Loki got a sly grin, trying to suppress a chuckle under his breath. Thor groaned, relieved once more. “Loki, you stupid –”

 

“Do my words fly in one ear and then do no more than merely fly out the other?” their father’s voice cut in. Both little heads snapped quickly in Odin’s direction as both bodies immediately froze. “Did we not discuss but yesterday what I expected you to do in moments of confrontation, Loki?” the Allfather asked pointedly, closing the distance between them.

 

Loki gulped. Thor glanced at the raven-haired boy and then quickly sputtered, “F-Father, it was _my_ fault – I was the one who –”

 

Odin raised a hand to silence him, his eyes still on his youngest son. “I have been well informed by Master Sten what occurred this morning,” he said. Loki stared at him with dread, and in that moment, he wished his nose _had_ had to be removed, so that his injuries were worse and they would have garnered sympathy from Odin rather than disappointment. But the King’s eyes softened slightly as he reached out and took Loki’s chin in his hand. He gently tilted Loki’s head from side to side as he assessed his injured nose. “Your left eye is going to bruise within the hour,” he noted factually. Both Loki and Thor blinked with confusion, for Loki’s eyes looked fine. Odin lowered his hand but kept his gaze on the pale, battered face in front of him. “I wish to know why this happened.”

 

“I volunteered to spar with Loki because none of the other children would, and –” Thor began to explain quickly.

 

Again, a single hand was raised, silencing him. “I already know _how_ this happened,” Odin said calmly. “I said that I wish to know _why_ , and I wish to hear it from Loki.”

 

Loki stared down at his hands in shame. It was embarrassing having to regale everything that had happened to the Allfather; he worried that he would tell him, only to find out that not only did the King already _know_ , but that perhaps he _agreed_ with them. When he could feel his father’s gaze unfaltering upon him, he caved. He heaved a heavy, nasally sigh, and there was a short, high-pitched squealing sound that came from his nose when he did – like air being released from a balloon. “It was just… none of the children want to be my friend. They all speak poorly of me whenever Thor is not around. They accuse me of being no more your son than a Bilgesnipe is a house pet. Everyone talks about me all the time – even the adults. And then after what happened yesterday with Raghild, they started titling me the ‘God of Mischief’.” He looked up into his father’s blue eye now, his own wet. “I do not _want_ to be the god of mischief, Father,” he insisted sadly. “Yet I feel as though I can do nothing without everyone else condemning me for my actions. I just… I try really hard… and…” he sighed again – that high-pitched sound squeaking out of his nose a second time – and he dropped his head in his hands. (Thor quickly palmed Loki’s forehead and made him tilt his head back again, lest his nose resume bleeding.) Loki looked at Thor and then lowered his eyes again, his shoulders sagging. “Today, I was just too weak,” he mumbled dejectedly. “I could not stomach their words like a true warrior.”

 

To his surprise, he suddenly felt Odin’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. He looked to him and Odin gave him his equivalent of a small, warm smile; his one good eye filled with an emotion Loki couldn’t recognize. “You are not a warrior,” the Allfather said. “You are a child, and you are my son.” He paused, seeming to be considering his words. Then he gave a small, stiff nod. “Thank you for your honesty. I will have word and deal with those who have been grieving you.” He brought his other hand to Loki’s other shoulder and stared straight into his eyes. “In the meantime, you must promise me that you will try your hardest not to let something like this happen again,” he continued with a grave seriousness in his voice. “You must promise me, and _mean_ it.”

 

Loki regarded him and then nodded quickly. He _had_ been trying, and he _had_ meant it when he made the same promise the first time, but there was no point arguing that. So instead, he just acquiesced. “I promise,” he echoed.    

 

The King searched his stare for any signs of deception and then nodded when he felt convinced. Turning to his elder son, he said, “Let us go now, Thor. Your brother could use some rest before his afternoon lesson.”

 

Thor pouted, considering pressing their father to let him stay by Loki’s side. But he knew it would be of no use. He squeezed the smaller boy’s arm and assured him, “I will see you later, Brother.” Loki gave him a small smile. Then the two left him alone - much to his reluctance - with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

True to Odin’s word, within the hour, as the dull throbbing in Loki’s nose persisted, the raven-haired boy could feel his left eye begin to swell and grow uncomfortable. He requested a mirror and sure enough, there was a great big bruise hugging his eye. He thought it ironic that now he paralleled the blotchy wound that Raghild wore on the opposite side of his face. Perhaps this was the fates paying him back for misbehaving. He wasted time poking at it, despite one of the Healers constantly admonishing him for doing so. After Loki had been bored to tears sitting by himself for what felt likes hours, he was finally allowed to remove the cloths from his nose and go get something to eat. A lot of the other children were already in their afternoon lessons, so he was granted a rare, peaceful lunch to himself; one where he didn’t have to feel self-conscious that all eyes – and conversation – were on him.

 

Afterwards, he went to the palace and sought out his mother in the hall of ceremonies, where she had told him she’d be. He’d hoped she hadn’t heard about his and Thor’s little spat, though he knew it would be impossible to hide the black eye and his swollen nose.

 

Of course, the second she saw him, Frigga walked briskly his way, lowered herself to her knees and cupped his face. “Oh, Loki,” she murmured with a sad smile, her eyes searching his. “Are you alright?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s alright,” he replied sheepishly. Frigga was the one person he had the most difficulty not crying in front of, and he hated the look on her face whenever he did so. Frigga gave him a grieved smile, which only made him feel worse. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he sighed. Her smile grew as she pulled him into a hug.

 

“Do not apologize, Loki,” she whispered soothingly, rubbing his back. He always felt so small in her arms. And she already knew what had transpired, so she didn’t need Loki to relive it again – not if it pained him to talk about it. She leaned away and regarded his wounds again. “Do they hurt?” she asked.

 

He gave a combination of a shrug and a small nod. She smiled and then lifted a hand and waved it in front of his face, saying nothing. Loki’s breath caught in his chest as his wounds suddenly felt warm and tingly; within seconds, the ache in his nose and the tight discomfort in his eye were gone. His hands flew up to touch his face but she grabbed his wrists in time and tenderly stopped him. “You are not healed,” she laughed lightly. “That will take time – a few days at most. I have merely rid you of the pain, so try not to touch.”

 

She let go of his hands and, of course, Loki’s first instinct was to touch his face anyways. But he bit his lip and fought the urge, instead stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tunic. She rose to her feet and then turned and took a few steps away from him.

 

“Will I be able to learn how to do that?” Loki asked eagerly.

 

Smiling, Frigga turned so she was facing him again and then nodded. “You will learn many things, with time,” she made sure to add. “However, there is something else I also wish to teach you.” To Loki’s surprise, she quickly produced two beautiful golden daggers in her hands, as if from thin air. His eyes widened.

 

“How did --?” he looked around and then whispered, as if he worried someone would hear, “Am I allowed to fight with those?”

 

Frigga smiled knowingly. Her son had not known it, but she was well aware of how Loki fared in combat with a sword. She understood how great of a difficulty it was for him. Perhaps with something a little smaller, her clever boy would master the technique and become a great warrior in his _own_ way. “Why not?” she asked rhetorically. “Not all warriors need use the same methods in battle.” She made a quick motion with her hands and suddenly the daggers were gone. Loki gaped, stunned. She held out a hand and gave him a loving look. “Come with me,” she said.

 

The raven-haired Prince grabbed her hand and followed her out of the hall, through the palace to a room he’d never been in before. It was filled with weaponry and targets and combat gear. Loki’s eyes darted all around the room in excitement and amazement. Frigga let him wander around the room and check everything out, under the strict instruction that he not touch any of the weapons. She watched him with a smile.

 

“Do you wish to know why I prefer daggers?” her voice called out to him. Loki spun around and looked to his mother, who stood in the center of the room. He didn’t answer; he waited patiently for her to tell him. Lifting her hands again, she pulled a singular dagger back out, as if from nowhere again. Loki had no idea how she kept doing that, but he hoped she would show him one day. “Daggers are light and nimble,” she said, her eye on the blade. “They can be easily concealed,” she continued, waving a cloaked hand in front of the dagger, seemingly making it disappear right before Loki’s green orbs. “And they can just as easily be drawn with speed,” she added, waving the hand back again, making the blade reappear in her other hand. She held it out for Loki to see. “You can hold many on your person at a time. They work both at close range –” she spun several times and expertly thrusted the dagger around – “and from a distance.” Turning on her heel away from her son, she whipped the dagger through the air at inhumane speed, the blade flying and landing directly in the center of one of the hanging targets.

 

Loki’s mouth hung open. He had never known his mother to be a warrioress, let alone be so impressive. He wondered if Father knew about this. She straightened and immediately re-adopted her warm and gentle demeanor, approaching Loki and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What say you, Loki? Would you like to learn these techniques?” she asked kindly.

 

Loki’s head bobbed up and down like a startled bird. “Yes!” he practically shouted. Frigga laughed gently. Then she brought both hands up and cupped his cheeks. “We shall begin tomorrow then, for I must first make the proper preparations in order to instruct you. All I ask are two things. The first: please do not ever come into this room without my supervision; I do not wish for you to injure yourself. Secondly, do not speak of these lessons to anyone, not even Thor. This must remain our secret. Can you do this for me, Loki?”

 

Loki knew what that meant. Their “secret”… what she was _really_ saying was that the Allfather didn’t know that she would be teaching him this. It made him feel conflicted; on the one hand, it was disappointing that his mother obviously felt as though they had to hide such things from the King, which must have meant that he would disapprove of whatever Loki was going to be doing. But at the same time, he despised how useless he was with a sword, and he reveled in the idea of becoming skilled with a blade – no matter how small – so he could show everyone why he could be a skilled warrior, too. Perhaps _then_ they would see him as being their equal and they would want to be his friend. Plus, he felt a pang of excitement and a small thrill at being able to have a secret that was just between him and his mother. It could be like their special thing.

 

* * *

 

Frigga explained that she and Loki would spend half of each afternoon in the weaponry room, teaching Loki about the daggers. Then the second half of each afternoon would take place outdoors, in a secluded back garden behind the palace restricted to only the Queen and King, where Frigga would teach Loki about magic. She told him that the weaponry room was too dangerous a place for him to be practicing his magic at first, though he didn’t understand why.

 

When they entered the garden, Loki’s eyes lit up; it was perhaps the most serene, beautiful place he’d ever seen – with flowers of all different colours and trees with leaves that seemed to cascade to the ground and looked as soft as silk to touch. The sun somehow seemed to shine brighter in this hidden piece of Asgard.

 

Frigga smiled down at her son. “I come here to read,” she explained, pointing to the willow tree. “I sit in the shade right over there. Come, let’s sit down.”

 

“Am I not to learn any magic today?”

 

Frigga laughed softly, her voice like music in the breeze. “So eager,” she mused proudly. She wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulder and the two walked over to the tree. “Not for the first few days,” she explained, much to Loki’s disappointment. She sat down on the grass and he followed, sitting across from her. “Before you can hope to control magic, you must first understand it,” she said.

 

“Like what?” he asked, crossing his legs enthusiastically.

 

“Magic is something within you; it lives within your very being and is just as much a part of you as every cell and organ,” she started to explain, keeping her pace slow so as not to overwhelm Loki. The black-haired boy just stared back at her in wonder, hanging off of every word. “It is important to understand that _you_ control your abilities; they do not control you. At first, it is going to be difficult. Your magic is very powerful; gaining authority over it will take some time, but eventually it will become as second-nature to you as breathing.”

 

Loki considered her words. “So how did you learn your magic?” he asked.

 

Frigga smiled. “I am not of Asgard by birth,” she revealed, much to Loki’s surprise. “I am from the Vanaheim, and many of the Vanir are capable of wielding magic. I am one of those Vanir.”

 

The Prince was surprised to learn of this, for he had simply assumed that Frigga had always lived in their realm. But he supposed it made sense; the Vanir were very graceful and just as powerful as the Asgardians. They were held in high regard in his realm; almost like a partner of their own.

 

“How long did it take for you to master your magic?”

 

“One never fully masters their magic,” she told him, giving him perhaps the biggest piece of advice she hoped he would carry with him and always remember. “There is always more to learn, and always areas to improve and grow. Never allow yourself to be overcome by hubris – magic is a very powerful thing, and those who possess it so strongly, like yourself, are but a handful. But you mustn’t forget that pride can be one’s greatest downfall.”

 

Loki nodded obediently, telling himself that he would never let his mother down.

There was a pause and then Frigga straightened herself slightly. “In order to control your magic, you must first recognize where it exists within you,” she explained gently. “Where does your magic come from?”

 

Loki furrowed his brows in thought, trying to remember where it always felt like it stemmed from within his tiny frame. Slowly, not completely certain, he lifted his hand and placed it over his heart. Frigga smiled and nodded. “Very good, Loki; yes, the source of your magic exists in the very place that continues to give you life. The two are one in the same. Next, I want you to try and picture it… What does it look like? Give it a colour; what colour is it?”

 

Loki closed his eyes and focused. At first, he had a difficult time focusing on visualizing the temporal energy within him, his mind busy and scrambled, as children’s minds are. He forced himself to push all thoughts of Raghild, the children, the adults, Thor, the Allfather – everything – out of his brain. Suddenly, for the first time, he could feel the faintest amount of energy in every beat of his heart. He wondered if it had always been there and his brain had always just been too noisy with thoughts and information to listen hard enough. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and then he could’ve sworn he could see it, just for a second.

 

“Green,” he whispered. Then he opened his eyes and nodded definitely. “It’s green.” He saw his mother’s eyes trail downwards and then she chuckled slightly. Glancing down, Loki was reminded of the colour of his garments and smiled, slightly embarrassed. Somehow, his colour choice wasn’t all that surprising.

 

“What provokes your magic the most?” she then asked.

 

Loki’s smile vanished, a heavy frown spreading across his face. He didn’t need to think for nearly as long about this answer. “Anger,” he answered. Then he scrunched his nose impulsively, wincing quickly when it shot a sharp pain through his head. “And humiliation…”

 

Frigga’s eyes instantly glistened with woeful tears. She knew what her little boy went through on a daily basis; what he was subjected to by adults and youth alike. It angered her, and she really wished her husband would do more to deal with it. But the logical part of her knew that there was only so much that could be done. In the end, you cannot control people – how they think, how they feel, what they say. If rumours were still to spread, they would find a way no matter the consequences.   

 

She reached forward and closed a hand tenderly over his. He looked up at her, and she was heartbroken to see that his own green orbs were moist with shame. She forced a smile. “You know, Loki, if you need some time to yourself, you have my permission to come here whenever you want, even if it is just to sit and read.” She knew how much he loved books; he almost always had one in his hand, or could be found in the library, picking out new selections by the dozen.

 

Loki perked at this. “Really?” he asked hopefully. He loved the idea of his mother sharing her favourite place in the entire realm with him - and it _would_ provide him a sort of safe haven to escape to if he ever needed to get away from the others.

She nodded. “I find the best shading comes from under this tree – but perhaps you will come to find your own favourite reading place. If you do, maybe you can show me.”

 

Loki grinned, feeling much better. “I would like that.”

 

* * *

 

Odin watched, but they did not see him. Sighing, he turned and silently made him way back through the palace before going to the stables and mounting Sleipnir. Instinct alone drove him towards the Observatory. After crossing the Bifrost Bridge, he stepped down from his eight-legged steed and slowly walked into the dome, Gungnir in hand. Heimdall stood at the mouth of the Observatory, staring out at the realms and – as always – seeing everything. Odin approached him, his own eyes fixed forward on the vast painting of all that existed, laid out before them. He could not see things the way his trusted sentry did, but he could _sense_ it. Sometimes, that was enough to calm him when his thoughts proved overwhelming.   

 

To two stood side by side in silence for a while. Finally, Heimdall spoke, still facing forward. “Something troubles my King,” he observed. He truly was capable of observing all facets of the truth - of all that existed.

 

The Allfather didn’t respond at first. There was grief and guilt… and something that ate away at him, all reflected in his eye. “You see everything,” he eventually said, his voice impassive. “Everything that ever was, everything that ever is - all since your watch began.”

 

Heimdall knew this was a rhetorical statement that did not require a response. So he remained quiet. Odin continued, the words seeming to be laboured.

 

“You were the only other being who saw what happened that day… when I found Loki in the Jotunheim.”

 

“I was,” Heimdall agreed simply. More silence descended upon them. Heimdall was not a man to push any subject when it came to his King. If the Allfather wished to tell him what was bothering him, he would do so by his own admission.

 

Odin frowned deeply. “Do you judge me for what I did on that day?”

 

Heimdall knew which moment he spoke of. “I do not judge the actions of my King,” he answered.

 

The Allfather sighed. “If you were but a regular man and not under my rule, would you judge me then?”

 

The sentry thought about his Ruler’s words. “If I may speak boldly, my King?”

 

Odin nodded curtly. “Yes, speak.”

 

“Perhaps the judgement you seek arises from the guilt that lies within yourself,” Heimdall said thoughtfully. Then he turned and set golden eyes upon him. “Do you feel your actions deserve judgement, my King?”

 

Odin’s eye _almost_ met Heimdall’s – almost. But then he cleared his throat, straightened his back and turned his back on the guardian. The uncertainty – the remorse – vanished from his face, once again locked behind an impassive mask that was eerily similar to the one his youngest son would become such an expert at dawning. He began to leave, Heimdall’s observation once again proving to be accurate - only this time, disturbing something deep within him that he did not think he was ready to face yet.

 

As he hooked his foot into Sleipnir’s stirrup, he faltered, allowing himself to crease his brows because, at least with his back to the sentry, he could pretend for a moment like his actions had gone unseen. “I did what was necessary,” he repeated, but Heimdall did not respond – because both men knew that the one person Odin was trying to convince more than anybody was himself.


End file.
